


Strange Bedfellows

by kitcat234



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, post—hogwarts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-21
Updated: 2012-12-31
Packaged: 2017-11-21 21:32:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 30
Words: 63,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/602295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitcat234/pseuds/kitcat234
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A few years after the War, George is in search of a flatmate.  Coincidentally, Hermione's just kicked her out.  Forced together, they have to see if they can live together without killing each other.  Becoming friends?  Now that's a laugh.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

George was lying on his bed, reading a book entitled _Potions at the Professor’s Level_ , occasionally sitting up and leaning the book against his knee to take notes in the margins or underline something, when he heard a knock on his doorframe. He looked up and smiled at his flatmate, who had apparently just gotten back from his date.

“You’re back early,” said George with a grin, sitting up and setting his quill in his book as a page marker. “I usually don’t see you until the next morning.” 

“Yeah,” said Lee with a little grin, “But this one was different.”

“This date or this bird?” Lee frowned, making George laugh. “I was joking, mate! I know you’re still dating Angelina. Don’t get your knickers in a twist. So, why was this date different than all the others? Besides the obvious fact that you’re here rather than enjoying a lovely night with Miss Johnson.”

A little smile crept onto Lee’s face, half-nervous and half-excited. “She asked me to move in with her,” he said quietly.

George stared at him for a good ten seconds before repeating slowly, “She asked you to move in?”

“She asked me to move in!” Lee said excitedly.

“Huh.”

“Why aren’t you excited? Why aren’t you congratulating me?” Lee asked confusedly.

“That means you’re moving out,” said George, rather uncomfortably.

“Yeah,” said Lee slowly, as if worried about his best friend’s sanity. “Me moving there would generally entail me moving out of here, George.”

George quickly hitched a smile onto his face. “Wow! She asked you to move in. That’s a big step, mate. Especially because you two have only been dating for, what, half a year?”

“Well, we’ve known each other for almost ten years, so there’s that.”

“You realize what this will mean, right?” asked George, a serious look on his face. “She’s probably going to make you, you know, help out around the house and such. And no walking around in the buff, mate.” George fought to keep a straight face, but it was proving to be a mean feat.

Lee faked a look of horror. “Wear clothes? All the time?!”

“I know! Terrible! Simply cruel!” They both grinned, unable to keep it up anymore.

“You know, I figure she wouldn’t mind too much.”

“She’ll like it a whole hell of a lot more than I do, I can tell you that,” said George with a smirk.

“Oh naff off,” replied Lee with a laugh, moving away from the doorframe he had been leaning against as he moved to go to his room. “I know you’re secretly attracted to me.”

George laughed. “Well, I’m glad we can agree you’re attracted to me more.”

“Yeah right,” floated back to George as Lee walked across the hall to his room.

The smile slid from George’s face as soon as Lee had left the room. He wasn’t sure how to take this. He was right chuffed that things with Lee and Angelina were going so well that they had gotten to this new step in their relationship, but Lee had been George’s flatmate for two years, ever since the end of the war. It had been hard getting over Fred’s death. Well, ‘getting over it’ was not really the right phrase. He was sure he would never get over his twin’s death. Right after, it was hard just to get from one day to the next. It was agonizing at holidays and utterly heart-wrenching when their birthday rolled around, but soon the days turned into months, and George had slowly started feeling better. By the time months had turned to years, the pain that seemed to pierce his chest every time he walked into their shop or his brother’s room, which was now his room, as he couldn’t bear the idea of someone else living in it, had lessened, and remembering Fred without seeing him lying under the rubble of the broken wall got easier and easier. He thought about his brother every day; he would think about what Fred’s opinion would on a new product, a weird customer, the new girl he was dating, or their brothers’ and sister’s lives, and would smile, knowing Fred would not have wanted everyone to live in sorrow, mourning him, but rather to go on, living all the more exuberantly in his honor. Although life had returned to as normal as it could possibly be with Fred gone, George was still worried about Lee moving out. He had never been on his own; Fred had always been there, so George really had no idea how to live alone, to be able to wander a house without anyone being there to talk to, do things with, or even just provide comfort with their presence. He knew there was nothing he could do to stop Lee, and he knew he truly did not want to, as he wanted the best for Lee and Angelina, who were two of his closest friends, but he was about to go diving off into waters previously untested, and he was most definitely nervous. 

 

TWO MONTHS LATER

 

“Zar! Zar! Baby, where are you? Balthazar!” 

Hermione was searching desperately for her kitten, who was currently nowhere to be found. He was only six months old, but he was clever, constantly getting into trouble and finding new places to hide. Hermione has found him just yesterday hiding in her bed frame. Apparently, he had used his sharp little claws to cut a hole in the fabric and crawl in, creating a kind of hammock. Only when Hermione had practically crawled under the bed and poked the lump to hear an aggravated “MRROW!” had she discovered his new favorite spot. She usually didn’t get worried about him, but he had been missing for an abnormally long time, and she was starting to get nervous. She walked down the very small hall and knocked on her flatmate’s door, which was cracked open, before pushing it open and entering. Cressida Collingsworth was a trying flatmate, to say the least. Spoiled and disinherited from her rich family for dropping out of school, only to be re-inherited when she threatened to give the Daily Prophet a full interview on the family, she was beautiful, and her paycheck as a model proved it, but snotty, rude, and quick to temper. Hermione had wanted to move out long ago, but the fantastic flat had kept her here. Hermione had lived with Cressida since she had bought a rather spacious two bedroom flat a year ago in order to “spread her wings,” though Hermione rather thought she did it to spite her parents. No matter what her flaws were, though, she had chosen Hermione to be her flatmate, and the two girls generally got along fine and stayed out of each others’ hair.

“Cressida?” called Hermione. 

“What?” an impatient voice called back.

“Have you seen Balthazar?”

“Who?”

“My cat. Balthazar. Have you seen him?” 

Right at that moment, Cressida walked into view, holding an armful of beautiful outfits hung on velvet hangers. “No, I haven’t,” she said, rather sharply.

“Mew?”

Hermione looked around. “Did you hear that?”

“Hear what?” she replied in a bored tone, busy looking through her outfits as she laid them across her king-sized silk sheets.

“I heard a meow.”

“I heard no such thing.”

“Mew?”

“There is was again!” Hermione began to look around the room, finally ending up at Cressida’s walk-in closet. She heard the clacking of high heels behind her and the clinking of bangles colliding, announcing Cressida’s arrival next to Hermione. Suddenly she let out a hair-raising shriek.

“WHAT?! WHAT?!” cried Hermione, looking around desperately, thinking that there must be an axe murderer standing behind them to trigger that sort of a reaction.

“MY DRESS! MY NEW DRESS!”

“What?” Hermione looked to where Cressida was pointing a perfectly manicured, albeit slightly shaking, hand. There, attached to a beautiful gold, silk charmeuse evening gown was Bathazar, his claws stuck in the material, in which he had sliced eight jagged cuts through half the dress, as if he had climbed from the hanger and slid his way down the dress using his claws. Cressida lunged for the kitten just as Hermione moved forward, desperate to hold her back.

“THAT BLOODY CAT! I’M GOING TO KILL IT! I’M GOING TO-”

“Cressida!” Hermione cried, desperately trying to prevent a murder by her impossibly skinny albeit much taller flatmate. Cressida finally stopped trying to get to the cat, which gave Hermione the opportunity to rush forward, detach Balthazar from the dress, and fix it with a wave of her wand. “See? It’s fixed! It’s fixed!” said Hermione desperately, holding the terrified kitten to her chest, as her flatmate looked murderous.

“That’s it!” hissed Cressida, her usually porcelain skin blotchy and purple with rage. Hermione was forcefully reminded of the beautiful veela at the World Cup turning birdlike and throwing fireballs. “You and that ball of fur are out! I want you out by the end of the week!”

“He didn’t mean-”

“I don’t care!” she shrieked. “That little mongrel has snuck in here and shredded enough of my designer clothes. That dress was made specially for me!” She pointed forcefully at the fixed dress with her blood red nails, revealing red half-moons almost cut into her palm from clenching her fists.

“But I fixed it,” said Hermione, now definitely nervous. She had never seen her flatmate this angry in the year she had known with her.

“It doesn’t matter! You’re out, and take that _thing_ with you! I want you out by the end of the week!”

“But tomorrow is Sunday,” said Hermione desperately. How was she supposed to find a new place in one night?

“Perfect,” said Cressida, a cruel smile curving her garnet lips.

 

Life without Lee had been odd for George. Of course, he saw Lee everyday at the shop, but it was lonely coming home to an empty house, not having anyone to which he could talk. He had been doing fine, but fine didn’t really seem enough. He seemed to be slipping into the brooding thoughts and piercing forlornness that he had lived with right after losing Fred. Two weeks in, he had put an advertisement in the Daily Prophet for a flatmate, but he was still living alone currently, as all those that had responded to the ad had been rather unsatisfactory. It had been a collection of some of the oddest people George had ever met – a plethora of gold-digging women and creepy middle-aged men mixed with the odd groupie or person who was obviously nutters. One woman had suddenly stopped talking to him in the middle of their conversation and begun talking to the cash register at the store. It was then that he was thankful he hadn’t told any of the people where the apartment actually was. It had been almost two months since Lee had moved out and things were getting desperate, though he had not gotten so far that he had resorted to living back at his family’s house. That, he had promised himself, would be the absolute last resort. He and Fred had worked so hard to get out and make something of themselves that going back would be tantamount to throwing up the white kerchief and admitting defeat, something he was certainly not willing to do.  
He sat up from his place on the couch, set the book he had been reading on the coffee table, and stretched. He checked the clock, noting he had half an hour before he was expected for dinner, and headed to the bathroom to shower.

 

Hermione walked into the Burrow and smiled as the smells of what promised to be a delicious dinner wafted through the air and hit her nose. She shook off her coat and hung it on the already full coat rack before moving to greet everybody. After giving everyone a hug and getting the customary “Hello, how are you” routine out of the way, she moved into the kitchen.

“Hello, Molly,” she said, walking forward and wrapping her arms around Molly from behind, who was busy watching something on the stove.

“Oh, hello Hermione!” said Mrs. Weasley happily, turning her head and giving Hermione a kiss on the temple before turning back to her pots and pans. “It’s so nice to see you. We missed you last week!”

“Oh, I know. I’m so sorry. I had to go to Ireland for a meeting for my department,” explained Hermione apologetically as she made her way to the dinner table to sit down. “Would you like any help?”

“Oh no, thank you though,” said Mrs. Weasley, neatly sliding the gravy boat under the steaming stream of gravy that was pouring from the cast iron pot that was floating in midair. “Dinner is just about ready. We’re just waiting on some of the boys. So how is everything?”

“Well, everything was fine, but now I’m being kicked out of my apartment.”

“Why?” asked Mrs. Weasley worriedly.

“My kitten shredded one of Cressida’s evening gowns. I fixed it immediately, but she was furious.” Mrs. Weasley pursed her lips, making Hermione smile slightly. Hermione had heard on several occasions how Mrs. Weasley did not approve of her flatmate. “Anyways,” she continued, “I have to be out by tomorrow, which is more than a little terrifying as I have no new place lined up. Could I stay here for a few days, just until I get this all sorted out and find a new place?”

“Oh of course, dear. You’re always welcome here; you know that.”

“Oh thank you so-”

“Hello!”

Hermione and Mrs. Weasley turned to see George walking in, taking off his coat and hanging it atop Hermione’s. Suddenly, a huge smile lit Mrs. Weasley’s face. “George!” she exclaimed.

“Yes?” he said hesitantly, unsure why she suddenly had a sparkle in her eyes that had not been there a moment before.

“I think I’ve found a new flatmate for you!” she sung happily.

“WHAT?!” cried Hermione and George.


	2. Chapter 2

"I think I've found a new flatmate for you!" Mrs. Weasley sung happily.

"WHAT?" cried Hermione and George.

"No no no! No way!" cried George, just as Hermione said hurriedly, "Absolutely not! That is insane!"

"Why?" asked Mrs. Weasley desperately. "It's perfect!"

"Perfect? Are you mad, woman?" George practically shouted.

"No way! There is absolutely no way that will work!" cried Hermione, staring at Mrs. Weasley, aghast.

Mrs. Weasley put her hands on her hips and glared at the two of them just as the rest of the family trooped in for dinner.

"What's all this ruckus about?" asked Ron as he sat down.

Mrs. Weasley spoke up before George or Hermione had the chance. "Hermione has been kicked out of her apartment, and George has been searching for a flatmate so-"

"Why were you kicked out?" asked Harry quickly. Every eye turned to Hermione, including George, who had not heard the context for Hermione needing a place to stay.

"Cressida kicked me out because of Balthazar," answered Hermione, to which Harry and Ron scowled and Ginny rolled her eyes. They were not fans of Cressida either.

"Wait…so you want George and Hermione to move in together?" Ginny asked Mrs. Weasley. A laugh burst from her lips and she was joined by Ron, Harry, and Mr. Weasley, who was chuckling quietly. "Talk about an unlikely pair!"

"Why is everyone so against this?" asked Mrs. Weasley desperately.

"Molly, dear, you realize they are almost polar opposites, don't you?" replied Mr. Weasley, trying to reason with her.

"So? Opposites attract!"

Ron sniggered in response. "She'll kill him." Harry snorted, fighting to keep a straight face under the glare of Mrs. Weasley.

As everyone sat down at the table, Mrs. Weasley remained standing and fixed her eyes on Hermione and George. "George Fabian Weasley, you have been complaining for two months about living alone. You are going to let Hermione live with you, and I mean it." He opened his mouth to argue but she talked over him. "This is not the gentleman I raised. I am disappointed in your behavior." George hung his head and the smiles evaporated from everyone's faces. They all knew hearing your parent was disappointed in you was the most painful jab a parent could give. "And Hermione," she started. Hermione froze and her eyes widened, reminiscent of a deer in the headlights. "This is a fantastic opportunity. It's a marvelous flat, there's no rent to pay, and heaven knows George could benefit from someone who actually knows how to cook. It would be absolutely ridiculous to pass this up." Hermione looked over at George, who was sitting a couple seats away, and sent him a questioning glance. He raised his eyebrows and sighed slightly, as if to say _Well, since we have to_ , but nodded. Mrs. Weasley beamed. "So it's settled then! Fantastic! Well, who's ready for dinner?"

 

 

There was a _crack!_ and Hermione dropped George's hand. "Well, this is it," she said quietly, unlocking the door and letting him in. "I'll only be a minute. You can wait out here."

"Your roommate won't mind?" Hermione snorted, and George looked over at her quickly, surprised.

"She's much too fabulous and famous to spend an evening in," said Hermione, her tone tinted with mocking. "That was my favorite part of living here. She sleeps in impossibly late and is never home in the evening due to her impossibly busy schedule of partying and refusing to eat anything."

Hermione turned and George watched her retreating back, a small smile on his lips. He had never heard such a snarky comment from Hermione before and was honestly surprised. He knew she had a temper, and it had often been directed at him and Fred in school, but this level of sarcasm was unexpected, but rather welcome. As he heard things shifting around in her room, he walked around the sitting room and looked around. Immediately over the fireplace hung a huge framed picture of a tall, waiflike woman posing and looking sulky on the cover of a magazine. She was attractive, George would give her that, but he wouldn't call her beautiful. She had jet black hair that was fanning around her, as if a huge gust of wind had just blown it back, and she had bright eyes that were blue bordering on purple and obviously fake. The clothes she wore were flattering and she was indeed quite striking, but she was imposing, angular, and haughty-looking. She did not look like the kind of girl you could actually date. Or hug, for that matter, for fear of snapping her in two. His eyes moved from the picture and immediately fell on another, still of the woman, but posing in a different setting. He scanned the room and realized that all the pictures in the room were of this woman, and there was not a single picture of her with a friend or a family member, and there was absolutely no sign that Hermione lived there at all.

"So you've met Cressida, I see," said a voice behind him. He turned and grinned at Hermione, who was looking at the pictures with her eyebrows raised, her face registering mingled boredom and bemusement.

"Yes, but she's not much of a talker. Kind of _flat_ , if you know what I mean." Hermione grinned and turned back towards her room, gesturing for him to follow. "So, what do you need help with?" He walked in and saw that the bedroom was completely stripped.

"Well, I have everything packed in suitcases and I shrunk them and my furniture down, so now I just need to take my things from the kitchen." With a wave of her wand, pots, pans, spices, food, and appliances came flying from the kitchen and soared into the box that was in George's arm.

"Alright! All set?"

"No! I need to find Balthazar. Hold on!" She hurried out of the room and walked out a few minutes later with a wicker basket, from which a mewing sound could be heard. The two of them, plus the cat, walked to the fireplace.

George looked at her, silently telling her to pay attention before throwing floo powder into the fire, shouting "Number 94, Diagon Alley," stepping in, and disappearing with a _whoosh_. She followed and stepped out into George's apartment for the first time.

 

 

"So there's the flat," George said after showing her around. "It's late so maybe you want to sleep in the spare bed and tomorrow I'll help you move in everything?"

"Uhh…yeah, that sounds good. Thanks George," she said, a little surprised at this kind gesture. She perched on the edge of the sofa, a little unsure, as George sat down in the armchair across from her. "Well, I guess we should establish some ground rules."

"Suppose so. So…what weird habits do you have, Miss Granger? Sleepwalk? Sleep in the nude? Both?" He winked cheekily at her and she blushed as she tried to give him a disapproving look.

"None of the above. Sorry to dash your hopes." She was pleased to see that his eyebrows raised, though he was still smiling, obviously impressed with her cheeky response. "Umm…well, I am a morning person. Oh, and I have to have Balthazar."

 

"I am a morning person also, and I will ignore the fact that I am not a cat person if you make sure to clean up after him and such." Hermione nodded, so he went on. "Well, might as well warn you now – I walk around in my shorts a lot," he said, noting Hermione's eyebrows raising infinitesimally, "I have female guests over often, and I am complete rubbish at doing anything that concerns food. Besides going out to eat, that is."

"Well, I love to cook, so that's easy, and I hardly expect you to change the way you go about your day or your love life just because I'm here. But a warning before someone shows up would probably be wise."

He grinned at her. "You know, I did not expect you to be so laid back about this, Hermione."

She shrugged and smiled. "I just appreciate that you are letting me live here when we hardly know each other."

"Well, I will accept your kind words and just ignore the fact that I was under death threat from my mother," he said with a grin, but then he became serious. "We hardly know each other? Why would you say that?"

"Well, honestly, we don't. I mean, I've _known_ you for almost ten years, but we were never close. If you really think about it, the closest we got to personal conversations were our arguments about your products."

George frowned and leaned back in his chair, thinking. This was actually very true. Hermione and he had never had a conversation of substance that had not directly centered on their products, the Order, the war, or Harry. It seemed incredibly odd that they had known each other for so long, but still had no idea about who the other really was. "Well, I guess tonight's a new starting point, then." He paused for a moment before leaning forward, outstretching his arm, and holding out his hand. "Hello there. My name is George Weasley."

She looked bemusedly at his hand for a moment before her eyes flicked up to his and he felt her eyes search his face, trying to figure out if he was being serious. She seemed satisfied with what she saw, as she stuck out her hand and shook his solidly. "I'm Hermione Granger."

George grinned. "It's very nice to meet you, Hermione Granger."


	3. Chapter 3

George heard a soft clanging coming from somewhere near his room, and took in a deep breath as he rolled over and slowly opened his eyes. 'What the bloody hell is that?' he thought, more confused than troubled at the fact that it had roused him from his dreams. He threw the covers off and quietly opened the door as he headed out to inspect the source of the noise. He ran his fingers through his hair, ruffling it and yawning widely as he padded out to the kitchen.

"Lee, what the hell are you doing up this early in the-" He had been in the middle of talking, but halted as delicious scents wafted around him, the sounds of snapping bacon filled the air, and a backside clad in plaid pajama trousers greeted him. "Well," he said with a chuckle. "You are _certainly_ not Lee."

Hermione stood up as she pulled out a sheet tray covered with perfectly crispy bacon and setting it on a free space on his very small counters before turning around and smiling at him. "I am not Lee, but I did make you breakfast as a bit of thanks for letting me move in."

George walked up behind her and looked over her shoulder at all the food. "If this is what you plan on doing all the time, you can stay forever." He reached for a piece of bacon that was sitting in the still bubbling fat and, before he even saw her move, she slapped the top of his hand with a pair of tongs. "Oi!"

"Hands off! You can wait five minutes for me to put things on plates. And you should probably spend a few of those minutes brushing your teeth. You have terrible morning breath." She looked over her shoulder at him, a little grin on her face.

"Who are you – my mum?" he asked, torn between being amused and being affronted.

"I'll take that as a compliment. But seriously, go brush your teeth," she ordered as she started transferring roasted cubes of potatoes into a small bowl.

"Yes, mother," George muttered as he walked back towards the bedrooms. Merlin, was this an odd experience already.

 

"So," said George between large bites of breakfast, "I know it's Monday, but I figured I'd take part of the day off to help you move in and such. Because, you know – My god, this is good!" He continued to shovel food into his mouth while Hermione watched him while she sipped her tea.

"It's almost disgusting how quickly you Weasleys eat." He shot her a closed-lipped grin as he ate some of the eggs she had prepared. "So, how about another amendment to our list of rules – I will make all the food, but you have to clean up as repayment."

George glanced over at the rather small kitchen, which was covered in used cutting boards, sharp knives, and spatulas, and the entire sink was filled with at least three pans soaking in soapy water. "You're kidding, right?" He glanced over to see her giving him the oh-so-familiar prefect eyebrow raise that he had gotten at school, and sighed. There was no way in hell she was going to let him back out of this one. "Deal." Her face immediately rearranged into a smile and she continued to finish her food. He shot her a squinty-eyed look, but she missed it. How in the world could she switch so quickly from being so intimidating to being sweet, innocently moving her food around her plate so every bite had a taste of everything together? Apparently, he had a lot to learn about how Hermione worked.

 

As George stood up to start cleaning, Hermione's eyes roved over him quickly. He was wearing nothing but a pair of forest green shorts that hung rather lower than expected on his hips. Hermione had to admit that he had a very nice body – toned and muscular without being too much so. She had always wondered what had made the twins and Charlie look so different from their brothers, except for the obvious few inches of height, and now she understood. For one, she knew Ron and Harry had never had a back or arms like that.

As she stood up from the table, she glanced over at George. "Mind if I go take a shower?" He shook his head, focusing on trying to get the pans to wash themselves while he put away the extra potatoes and bacon. "You weren't kidding when you said you just walk around in your shorts, I see."

He looked over, a cheeky grin on his face. "Get used to it, Hermione."

She chuckled and shook her head as she walked back to Lee's…well, now _her_ room to find some clothes for the day in her old school trunk.

 

"Alright," said George, his arms crossed as he looked around the room. "What shall we tackle first?"

"Well, I suppose we can move his furniture out, since I brought my own. Is there a place we can store them?"

"Up in the attic, I suppose," he replied as he began help her strip the bed and pile the sheets on the floor. Together they shrunk the furniture until it was only about a square meter or so and he began carrying them up as she started cleaning the room. When he came down a few minutes later, he saw the room was spotless and the mahogany wood floors shined as if they had just been waxed and polished. Currently, Hermione was staring at the walls with a frown on her face. He was completely baffled as to what she was doing.

"Hermione?"

"Shhh," she said as she waved her hand vaguely in his direction.

Raising his eyebrows, completely lost, he took a minute to look her over, as she was apparently much too busy to notice anyways. She had definitely changed since their days at Hogwarts, but she was still quite recognizably the Hermione everyone knew. She still had her bushy brown curls that were currently fighting to escape her plait, and she still was (seemingly) still as bossy, but there was something different about her and it was nagging him. She was dressed in a pair of jeans that were obviously worn and well-loved, as they were covered with paint flecks and little grease spots, and a black t-shirt that hung rather loosely, just skimming her curves. And there were curves to skim, George was surprised to see. She was not like most of the girls he knew or dated, who were the tall, slender athlete or model types. She had hips, a waist, and a good-size chest, but everything suited her. He supposed the only proper way to explain it was that she had curves, honest to Merlin curves, and he was rather impressed she had hidden them under school robes and loose-fitting sweaters for so long. He heard a sniff and it pulled him back to the present. He realized he had been staring at her, and more precisely at her figure, which thus made it look like he was staring at her bum. Which he was not doing. Shaking himself, he was thankful she hadn't noticed a thing.

"I'm thinking yellow. Or maybe green."

"Pardon?"

She continued to stare at the wall. "Painting."

"Ah, well, you can always change it easily."

"That's true," she mumbled, clearly not paying attention.

"Well, you two are obviously busy, so I'll give you some time alone together."

"Uh huh."

He smiled slightly at her lack of focus and headed towards the bathroom to shower.

 

 

Ron looked up from his Quidditch magazine as the floo sounded and his sister and Harry stepped out from beneath the hearth.

"Is that Ginny?" called Mrs. Weasley from the other room, where she was folding laundry.

"Yes, Mum," said Ginny walking towards her mother's voice, her brother and boyfriend following close behind. She immediately set to folding clothes with her mother as Ron and Harry stood at the doorway, not able to fit into the rather small room.

"So, any word from George or Hermione?"

"It's only been one day, Mum," said Ron with a grin, "But I haven't heard anything."

"And the Daily Prophet hasn't reported any murder yet, so I think we're safe for now," said Harry with a chuckle.

"Well, I hope everything works out with them. I thought this was a really good idea, and I still do! They just need to get used to each other. That's all," said Mrs. Weasley, assuredly.

"Who do you think will crack first?" said Ron with an evil grin.

"Ron!" said Mrs. Weasley sharply, smacking his arm with the folded shirt that was in her hands. The three of them laughed, and a small smile tugged at Mrs. Weasley's lips, though she was fighting valiantly to hide it.

"George," said Ginny, matter-of-factly, just as Harry and Ron said, in tandem, "Hermione." They all looked at each other and grinned.

Mrs. Weasley, obviously against her better judgment, turned as she was folding one of Mr. Weasley's robes, asked, "Why would you say that?"

"Well," said Ginny quickly, "George is used to people with a high tolerance for the jokes he pulls and the way he acts. Lee was always his sidekick. Take that away and replace it with Hermione? He might as well be living at home, having you watch his every move. Having someone there who is just as clever as he is, who is completely opposite of him, will drive him nuts. Plus, he's a bit scared of her. They both were, to some extent."

Ron chuckled as Harry spoke up. "Yeah, that all might be true, but Hermione's still a prefect at heart. She's not going to be able to handle all his tricks and pranks without flying off the handle. She's used to living with a girl, first of all, so living with a guy will be enough of a change-up, but living with George will just up the ante. And secondly, she's very precise on how everything in her world has to be, and George is going to mess it all up, probably on purpose."

"Plus," added Ron, "she's used to being the smartest one and the one in control of every situation. She's definitely not used to being around someone that's always a step ahead of her, which Fred and George always were. And that temper!" Ginny and Harry chuckled, fully aware of how scary Hermione got when she was upset. "Merlin, I'd love to see them go head to head for their first fight. They are going to murder each other. They'll never be able to handle this."

Ginny, after a quick look at her mother, who had been listening raptly while she silently folded laundry, crossed her arms, a sneaky smile on her face. "Anyone care to make a bet?"

"What are we betting on, exactly?" asked Ron with a grin that was so reminiscent of the twins when they were pulling pranks.

"Okay, how about this. You have to pick who will lose it first, and how long into their living together will it happen. I'll say 'George' and 'one month in.' And I'll put five galleons down on it."

"Ginny," said Mrs. Weasley, finally breaking her silence, "I don't know if you should be-"

"I'll say 'Hermione, a fortnight in,' and I'll put ten galleons down," Ron said quickly over his mother's mild disapproval.

Harry sighed, but was still smiling. "You know she'll kill us if she finds out we're betting on her sanity." Ron chuckled in response. "Okay, fine. Err…I'll say, 'Hermione, and a month in,' and I'll put that same five galleons in."

"Mum?" asked Ginny expectantly, turning to her mother.

"I'm not going to choose who-"

"Mum," said Ginny reproachfully.

Mrs. Weasley sighed as she picked up the laundry basket that was now full of folded clothes and balanced it on her hip. " 'George, and a fortnight in,' and if you tell them I bet, you will be in more trouble than you can imagine," she said hurriedly as she walked quickly from the room.

"Mum, you forgot to say how much you're betting," Ron called after her.

Ginny chuckled evily. "Let the games begin."


	4. Chapter 4

DAY TWO

Hermione ran her fingers through her hair, massaging the shampoo in before stepping back under the hot stream of the shower. Eyes closed, she smiled as she felt the suds and the hot water slide down her back, cover her legs, and spin around at the bottom of the tub before traveling down the drain. She was very precise about her morning ritual and took much pleasure in it when she was able to complete it without interruption. When she had awoken at half past six that morning, she had tiptoed past George's room and heard gentle snores, signaling that he was still fast asleep. She had headed into the bathroom, turned on the water, and brushed her teeth as the showerhead filled the small room with a calming sound so reminiscent of rain falling against a windowpane. She was in the midst of washing her face, waiting for the conditioner to sink in, when there was a knock at the bathroom door. Surprised, she swallowed a bit of soapy water and coughed as she turned, confused.

"You almost done in there?" George called.

"Not really. Can you give me five more minutes?" she called back from behind the shower curtain. She heard what sounded like an aggravated sigh and then silence. Taking this to mean that George was giving her those extra minutes, she set to rinsing off and getting the conditioner from her hair. She was just in the midst of stepping out of the shower, looking for where she had put her dry towel, when the door opened. With a squeak of fear that sounded like a mouse being trodden on, she leapt backwards into the shower and practically wrapped the shower curtain around her.

George was walking in, covering his eyes with one hand, the other hand still on the doorknob. "I'm not looking. I'm not looking," he said. "I just really have to use the loo."

"George!" she cried, her face bright red from embarrassment. "I am still in the shower!"

"But the water's off. I heard it."

"But I have no towel on!"

"Really?" He turned as if to look, a little grin playing on the corner of his lips before he caught himself. He hurriedly re-covered his eyes and looked down. "Uhh, I'll just…yeah," he said, distractedly, backing out of the room and closing the door behind him.

Hermione quickly stepped out of the tub, wrapped her fluffy white towel around her, and clipped her wet hair up, keeping her eye on the door as she did so. She moved forward and opened the door, her hands immediately flying back to her towel, holding it securely so nothing indecent was showing.

"Thank Merlin!" said George hurriedly, pushing past her into the bathroom and hurrying for the toilet, not even stopping to close the door.

"Oh my god!" Hermione cried, disgusted, as she hurriedly closed the door and ran to her room, closing and locking the door behind her. This was not the way her morning ritual was supposed to go!

 

 

DAY FIVE

George was roused from his dream by a gentle pressure on his chest. Thinking it was part of the dream, he turned his head and fell back to sleep. A second later, he felt something pressing on his cheek. He ignored it and again fell back to sleep. His dream was just restarting when he started having trouble breathing. He tried to breathe through his nose, but that seemed to be difficult too. Suddenly, all of his air was cut off and he sat up, gasping, a loud noise and a _thump_ accompanying his ragged breaths. He looked around, wild-eyed, not understanding why he had been unable to breathe, when he noticed a pair of his shorts moving around the floor.

"What the-" he started to say, but then, his unspoken question was answered as a little black kitten moved from under the shorts, looking up at him innocently. "It was you!" he hissed at the kitten. It tilted his head, as if finding George interesting. "You little-" He made a face, not sure what word would be appropriate for chastising a kitten, and instead hurried out into the hall. "Hermione," he called through the bathroom door. He did not hear any running water, so he assumed she was dressed and opened the door.

"George!" she said, looking at him with mingled shock and indignation.

"Your cat tried to kill me!" he shouted, just as she said loudly, "I could have been naked in here!"

"That little monster went and slept on my neck!" George continued, ignoring Hermione's red face and her pale hands, which were clutching the folds of her bathrobe tightly around her. "I couldn't breathe!"

"He was only being affectionate," she cut in.

"Affectionate? He tried to kill me!"

"He did no such thing," she huffed. She looked down as Balthazar entered the bathroom, mewing and winding himself around Hermione's legs. She bent down to pick him up and smiled as she said in a babying tone, "You wouldn't hurt anyone, would you, Balthazar? No, of course you wouldn't! You're such a good boy." She scratched his ears, earning a loud purr, before setting him down and moving past George. "Like a cat is trying to kill you. Honestly," she scoffed.

George looked down to see the cat watching him with narrowed eyes. "You watch it, fuzzball," he warned. "I'm on to you."

 

 

DAY NINE

Hermione was stretched out on the couch, Balthazar asleep on her stomach, reading an old book by the flickering light of the fire. She knew she should probably go to bed, but she was much too comfortable to move. The warmth of the fire, the comfort of the cushy couch, and the serenity of her kitten purring softly – it was all just too enjoyable. And to top it off, George was not here. She did not know why, but he had not left a note, so she didn't worry her head about it. He was probably off wreaking havoc, but all that mattered to Hermione currently was that he was not wreaking it where she was. Smiling to herself, she continued to read her novel, one that she had read so often that the book was almost twice its original size, the binding broken and the tops of the pages worn from years of earmarking. She could have only been reading for a quarter of an hour more when the she heard a very feminine giggle. Confused, she looked around but saw nothing. Dismissing it as her being too tired, she continued to read. A few moments later, the front door opened and the shuffling of two feet was heard. She was about to look around when she heard that same giggle again, followed by a low chuckle that was distinctly male and rather familiar. She froze, completely at a loss for what to do. She wished she could leave or at least turn around, but, as the sound of what was obviously kissing came from somewhere in the direction of the dining table, which was only a few yards behind her, she knew this situation would be a thousand times more awkward if she alerted them to her presence now. The kissing continued, now mixed in with the occasional heavy breathing or a hastily-muttered word, and Hermione cursed the situation, listening to what was obviously George and his latest date…getting along, to say the least. Just as Hermione felt as though this couldn't get any worse, she heard the gentle _flump_ of clothing hitting the ground. Completely mortified, she internally shouted as George. As soon as the action had been moved from their dining room table to George's bedroom, Hermione scooped up Balthazar and ran as quietly as possible to her room, shutting the door with a quiet click and putting a silencing spell on the door. The last thing she needed was to be able to hear the rest of their night.

 

 

DAY TEN

Hermione pressed an ear to her door, wondering if it was safe for her to go to the bathroom yet. She had woken up a bit later than usual and was not sure if this meant that George would be in her way of getting ready. Just as her hand moved to the door handle, ready to walk out, she heard two voices.

"So, when will I see you again?" a female voice purred from nearby. Hermione made a small noise of contempt. She hated women that purred.

A deep chuckle was the reply, followed by George's deep voice speaking up: "You know I'm terribly busy, Charlotte."

"Oh, but surely you can make a little time for me?" the woman called Charlotte simpered. Hermione made a mental note – not only did she hate women that purred, but she hated ones that simpered as well.

"Well, I'll try my best, Char, but you know how it's like." George made a sigh that Hermione knew, without even seeing his face, was for theatrical purposes only.

This Charlotte woman seemed to be buying in to it, as she replied in a voice laced with such sweetness that it made Hermione feel nauseous, "Oh, poor George! They must be working you too hard! I understand. Well, when you're able, let me know, okay?"

"Okay," came George's voice, followed by the sound of a kiss and the whoosh of the floo. Sensing the "visitor" was gone, Hermione stepped out of her room and almost collided with George, who was in the midst of walking back to his room. "Oh, hello Hermione," said George genially. "Need to use the shower first?"

"Well, if you don't mind." With a small smile, her tone changed until she sounded quite like the unknown Charlotte. "I know how hard your bosses work you! Poor baby!" His head whipped around and he stared at her, his cheeks pink. "Oh, and by the way," she said in her normal voice, one eyebrow raised as she surveyed him, "you should check that the sitting room is empty next time you bring a date home." She turned as she closed the bathroom door to see George standing there, mouth hanging open, his face flushed with embarrassment.

 

 

DAY TWELVE

George sat at the table, working on a new design for a prototype he was working on, when he heard movement near him. Ignoring it, he continued working until a _thunk_ resonated through the room, shaking the table and thus his quill.

"Oi!" he cried, looking up, frustrated.

"Sorry!" said Hermione hurriedly as she sat down across from him and began to sift through the mountain of books she had set on the table.

"What the hell are you doing that involves that many books?" he asked, looking up from removing the inkblot that had stained his work.

"Just something for work. New assignment," Hermione muttered as she rifled through the books, obviously searching for something.

"What do you do, again?"

She looked up, a look of bemusement on her face. "You don't know what my job is?"

"Why is that odd? You never talk about it. I mean, at least my job has my name in the title – it's self-explanatory then."

She giggled, which he had not expected, and shook her head. "Well, that makes sense. And I'm a writer for the Daily Prophet. Actually, I'm the editor."

"You're joking," he said, rather shocked.

"Why is that surprising? You think I can't write?" Her cheeks flushed pink and her eyes seem to spark up, as if an angry fire had been lit inside her.

"Whoa," he cut in, raising his hands in a gesture of innocence, "I didn't say anything of the sort. Don't get your knickers in a twist. It's just impressive to be the editor two years out of Hogwarts. And for the Prophet, no less."

She calmed down and smiled somewhat, obviously a tad embarrassed at her flare-up. She shrugged in agreement. "I know, for the past couple years, the Prophet has been utter rubbish. Since the Quibbler is the main source of news, the Prophet was going down the tube, as they say, and I came on to help them. We've been starting from scratch, essentially."

"Impressive. My metaphorical hat is off to you, Miss Granger." He winked at her and she smiled before they both resumed their work.

 

It had been almost a solid hour and a half that Hermione and George had been working at the table. At first, Hermione had ignored the occasional crumpling of paper or noises of frustration, but now they were getting on her nerves. She sighed loudly and flipped another page of her book. In her peripherals, she could see George look up at her for a moment, a frown creasing his forehead, but she continued to read. She set the book atop the others, all open at different pages, and went back to writing.

 

_Scritch. Scritch. Sigh. Flip. Flip. Sigh. Scritch. Scritch._

George looked up, his lips pressed tight together, holding back his frustration.

_Flip. Flip. Sigh. Flip. Scritch. Sigh._

"What the bloody hell are you reading that sighing every thirty seconds is necessary?" he finally cried, unable to control it anymore. Her head snapped up and she looked at him, affronted.

"Excuse me?"

"You keep making these dramatic sighs every few seconds! It's driving me mad!"

"Well, you keep crumpling up papers and throwing them away!" she countered.

"SO?"

"The whole floor is covered with them, not to mention the fact that the sound is utterly grating," she replied, gesturing to the floor, which was indeed littered with balls of paper. As they looked, Balthazar batted around a paper ball, practically vibrating with excitement as he leapt around the ball, knocking it this way and that.

"Could you stop sighing like the bloody world is ending?"

"Well, then stop crumpling papers every few minutes!"

"FINE!"

"FINE!"

_Sigh._


	5. Chapter 5

DAY THIRTEEN

Hermione yawned as she quietly walked out of her room and headed towards the kitchen to grab a cup of tea. When she got there, she noticed a fresh pot of coffee was sitting on the counter, still hot. 'Odd,' she thought to herself. Deciding she was too tired to devote any energy to wondering about this, she moved to the right and opened the cabinet to retrieve a mug. She was just turning to pour some water from the kettle when the coffee again caught her eye. Had George made the coffee? Why had he left a whole pot? Usually he either finished off a pot or made only a cup for himself. Maybe he had noticed how she had not been sleeping. She had been up all night Thursday going over the reports and articles from the Prophet's writers, and had had only a few scant hours of sleep last night due to her research. Maybe coffee was a better move today, what with the added caffeine and the fact that it was already there, practically signaling her to have some. She didn't usually drink coffee, but she wasn't opposed to it. In fact, she rather liked it, but preferred tea as she didn't usually like depending on caffeine. As a huge yawn overtook her, she realized that this internal struggle was futile – not only had she now spent quite a bit of energy pondering over the coffee versus tea quandary, but she desperately needed a boost. And a nap, but she would worry about that later. She moved back towards the coffee, pouring the dark, steaming liquid into her favorite mug and added a teaspoonful of sugar as well as a tablespoon of cocoa powder. After pouring in some milk, she sat down at the small table and sighed happily. This was perfect – a nice, quiet morning alone with her very-much-needed beverage.

"George?"

Hermione cringed. 'And there goes my serenity,' she thought ruefully. She turned to see a woman walking out from the direction of George's room, her blonde hair messy from sleep, her body squeezed into a tight and slightly rumpled violet dress, a pair of very high heels hanging from one hand, her purse and wand in the other.

"George?" At that moment, the woman seemed to realize that Hermione was in the room. "Who are you?" she asked quickly, her eyes running over Hermione's untamed bushy hair that was probably sticking up in a million different directions, down to her loose shirt that showed the straps of her blue sports bra and her baggy flannel pajama trousers, and back up to the bags that Hermione knew were quite noticeable under her tired eyes. A look of contempt flitted over the woman's face for merely a second.

"I'm George's roommate. Who are you?" replied Hermione, not really caring for an answer, but asking automatically anyways.

"I'm Bridget," said the woman with a small toss of her hair. 'Ah,' thought Hermione, 'So we have someone new today.' "Where's George?" Bridget asked, rather abruptly.

"I'm his roommate," replied Hermione unemotionally, "not his keeper. I have no idea where he's gone to."

Bridget shot Hermione a condescending look before tossing her hair again and smiling rather falsely. "Well, when you see him, tell him I don't appreciate him leaving without telling me goodbye. Or waking me, for that matter." She walked to the front door and walked out, her footsteps slowly fading away as she went down the stairs.

"Yeah, I'll get right on that," mumbled Hermione sarcastically. "Right after I finish doing everything else in my life."

 

 

George checked his watch. It was eight. 'It's probably safe to go up,' he thought. He walked out of the back office and to the main part of the store, where Lee and Verity were talking to customers. He smiled at the customers as he walked by, occasionally helping someone with a query or giving a stern look to a little boy who looked as though he had been contemplating theft, finally reaching Lee, who had just finished ringing up a customer. "So," he asked with a smile, looking around the shop as he talked, "any sign of-"

"Literally just left a minute ago," replied Lee, gesturing to the front of the shop. George looked out the front windows just in time to see Bridget turn on the spot and apparate a few meters from the shop. "Why'd you escape this time?"

"Insanely bossy, that one," he replied, smiling as a small raven-haired girl entered the shop with what looked like her older brother, whose hand rested securely on her shoulder, guiding her through the displays. "Like I need more of that. I already live with the Queen of Bossiness herself."

"I thought your mum was the Queen of Bossiness," said Lee with a laugh.

"Oh, my mistake. I live with the Duchess of Bossiness," amended George with a grin.

"Yeah and how's that going?" asked Lee with a smirk.

George shrugged. "It's alright, I guess. She apparently was in the room when I brought Charlotte home Wednesday."

"In your bedroom?" Lee's mouth fell open in shock.

George looked at Lee as if questioning his sanity. "Not in my bedroom, you moron. Why the hell would she be in my bedroom?"

"That's why I was confused!"

"No, in the sitting room."

"And how do you know?"

George shifted, suddenly looking uncomfortable. "She mentioned it the next day…while she called me out on one of my lines," he mumbled embarrassedly. Lee's face twisted into an amused smirk. "Wipe that look off your face, you berk," George muttered.

"Wait…so you left Bridget up there. With Hermione. Just the two of them," said Lee, half asking, half confirming fact.

"Yeah, and?"

"That's probably why Bridget looked so miffed when she walked out. Well, that and you ditched her."

"What? How am I honestly supposed to casually bring up 'Oh hey, by the way, I share an apartment with a woman to whom I have no romantic connection. You're fine with that, right?' while I'm chatting up a bird?" replied George, agitatedly straightening the stacks of Fainting Fancies that was next to them.

Lee chuckled. "Point taken. So do you think she'll call you out again when you get back up there?"

George sighed. "Let's hope not. Wish me luck." He turned and headed towards the back stairs that led to the apartment.

 

 

Hermione's head snapped up as she heard the door open and close. George walked towards her, grabbing a new mug from the cabinet and pouring himself a cup of coffee.

"Good morning," said George happily as he added milk to his coffee.

"Morning."

"I figured you'd need the coffee, you know, after not sleeping for two days and all that." He sat down across from her and smiled kindly.

"Thank you," said Hermione slowly. It had not occurred to her that George would have made extra coffee just for her as an act of kindness. "I appreciate it." He smiled again and took a sip of his coffee. They sat in silence for a few moments before she spoke up. "So, whatever happened to Charlotte?" George coughed slightly as he drank his coffee, his cheeks immediately turning rather pink.

"Excuse me?"

"Is she an actual option for you? I mean, I assumed she was more of a fling as she somehow believed your line about being busy, but I was wondering if the presence of Bridget confirmed my idea or not."

"She is not…err…long term," George replied, rather delicately.

"Why?"

"Why do you ask?" he countered, clearly uncomfortable.

"Merely curious." She watched him over the top of her mug as she sipped her second cup of coffee. "So what was wrong with her?"

"There was nothing wrong with her. She's a lovely girl."

Hermione smiled slightly. She wasn't sure if she was actually interested or only amused because of her complete lack of sleep and therefore normal brain function, but she and George didn't often talk about things outside of polite exchanges or snapping at the other's annoying habit du jour, so the fact that they were conversing was interesting in and of itself. "Well, if you truly meant that, I'm sure I wouldn't have had such a pleasant exchange with Miss Purple a short while ago." She smiled knowingly at him and cocked an eyebrow.

George sighed, obviously realizing that she was not going to drop the topic. "As you might have noticed from your eavesdropping Thursday," he said, talking over her noise of dissent at his choice of words, "she is not the sharpest knife in the kitchen, so to speak."

"Then why did you get involved with her?"

"Umm, because she was lovely, slightly tipsy, and very interested in me?" George said, the lilt in his voice suggesting that Hermione should have already known that was the answer.

"And what about Bridget?"

"Bossy. It wasn't exactly pleasant being instructed and judged on everything I did while we-"

"Okay, okay, I got it," interjected Hermione quickly before he could finish his sentence. "Well, I'm bossy and you haven't kicked me out."

George grinned slightly. "Yes, but you're not instructing me on how to shag you." He started getting up from the table, depositing his empty cup in the sink and pushing his chair into the table.

Hermione frowned slightly at his phrasing. "That I am quite sure I am not doing," she said. George laughed, which surprised her.

"You're funny, Granger," he said as he walked past. He ruffled her hair lightly and, despite herself, she grinned.

 

 

DAY FOURTEEN

Hermione was in the middle of folding her laundry when she found a pair or George's shorts. 'What in the world are these doing in my laundry?' she thought, not sure whether to be upset that he had hijacked her laundry or to be worried about if the shorts had actually been washed. Picking them up gingerly from the elastic waistband, she held them between her index finger and thumb and held them out in front of her as she walked out to find George. After scanning the room, she realized George was not in the sitting room or the kitchen, which were technically in the same room anyways, she headed to his bedroom, knowing he was not in the loo, as the bathroom door was open. "George," she called as she knocked on the door, "Are you in there? I have your shorts and I sincerely do not want them." There was no response. "George?" She opened the door and her eyes traveled over the unmade bed, the drawers and closet that were exploding with unfolded and poorly put away clothes, and the floor that was almost completely covered with everything from crumpled balls of paper, magazines, and dirty clothes. She took in a deep shuddering breath. "You can do this, Hermione," she said aloud to herself. "You can walk away from this." She dropped his shorts on the bed and turned to leave when she heard a small mew. "Balthazar?"

"Mew."

"Zar? Baby, are you in here?" She looked once again around the semi-dark room, but saw no kitten. "Oh dear god, you've been eaten by his room." She looked around once more and, grimacing, accepted what she had to do.

 

 

George walked into the flat, whistling as he deposited his paper bag, in which a few new books and his favorite candy were residing, on the table. He heard the sound of a page being turned and looked over at the sofa. Hermione was asleep on the sofa, her head resting against the back of the sofa, her hair fanned across the rest of the sofa that spanned to her right. Atop her stomach lay a book, her hands still resting, relaxed and open, next to it, as if she had fallen asleep while holding the book. Just next to the book sat Balthazar, his little paws pushing pages this way and that, turning them one way then another to amuse himself. George smiled softly as he looked upon this scene of calm. When she was asleep and not busy adding more worry lines to her forehead or watching him suspiciously, Hermione looked sweet, her face relaxed, no lines marring her pretty face. And that fuzzball was rather cute, he had to admit. He quietly headed towards his bedroom, forgetting to bring his bag of new purchases. He opened the door to his room and froze as his eyes took in what was in front of him.

"HERMIONE!" he roared.


	6. Chapter 6

"HERMIONE!" he roared. He stormed out to the living room, where Hermione was sitting up, rubbing her eyes and looking startled.

"What?" she asked sleepily. "Is it time to leave?"

He stormed over to her, grabbed her wrist, and pulled her up from the couch, dragging her to his room. He stopped in the doorway. "WHAT. IS. THIS."

She blinked twice before looking at him confusedly. "It's your room."

"What have you done to it?" he asked, trying to keep his voice level but failing. He could feel his neck and ears burning and knew they were bright red by now.

"I cleaned it," she answered matter-of-factly.

"And who said you were allowed in my room, let alone allowed to do this to it?" he asked, his voice steely.

"I need permission to come into your room? You come in my room all the time."

George's mouth fell slightly open as he stared at her in mingled shock and anger. "I-, you-, WHAT? I never come into your room unless you ask for help with the furniture or something. And why the bloody hell did you clean my room?"

"Balthazar was lost in here, and I couldn't find him because he was buried far under all of the filth in your room." She raised her eyebrow at him, a nonverbal challenge that George missed.

"Why the hell was your cat in my room?" he half-shouted.

"How the hell am I supposed to know? HE'S A CAT, GEORGE! You probably left the door open and he wanted to explore," said Hermione, her face now starting to turn red, an angry blush rising up her neck.

"Why did that give you authority to clean my room?"

"Honestly, I don't know what your problem is. It was a complete sty. You should be thanking me," said Hermione, crossing her arms across her chest.

"Thanking-? YOU CLEANED MY ROOM, HERMIONE!" he shouted, although he was only about half a meter away from her, as they were both standing in the doorway facing each other. "No, you didn't just clean my room, you organized it!" He strode angrily over to his dresser and pointed to each of the drawers as he spoke. "Shirts? Pants? Underwear? Not only did you go through all of my clothes, but you LABLED MY DRAWERS? And this," he said, striding over to closet, which was organized by article of clothing, then color, "WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?"

"A closet," replied Hermione coldly, an angry look on her face. "I'm not surprised you don't know, as it was previously being used as an enclosure for dirty clothes and month-old trash."

Gorge took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment, his lips pressed together in anger. "Hermione," he said quietly, "have you ever heard of organized chaos?"

"No, but it sounds stupidly paradoxical."

"It basically means that although it looks messy to everyone else, I know where everything is. How the hell am I supposed to find anything in here?"

"What? Everything is organized and labeled. You have to be a complete dunce to not understand that organization system. Oh," she said, giving him a cold look and pointing to his small desk, on which a small pile of articles lay, "and there are all the things your little one-night-stands left here. I'm surprised that they didn't run away when they saw this room, but then again, you don't seem to have a flair for picking ones with brains, now do you?" She gave him a cold smile as he could hear the blood pumping in his ears.

"Who the hell gives you the right to judge how I live my life? We made a deal that if you moved in here, you would be okay with my situation and-"

"I said 'I hardly expected you to change because I was here,' not 'I approve of how you treat these women,' no matter how dim-witted they may be."

George moved to say something as he raised his finger and pointed in her face angrily, but the words escaped him. "I just-, I'm not dealing with you right now," he said quickly, trying to control his anger. He started walking into the sitting room, but Hermione followed him.

"Oh no, you don't get to rudely point in my face and then walk away," she said, storming over to where he was pulling on his jacket from the coat rack by the door.

"Oh really? Because I just did," he said, glaring at her as he buttoned his coat and she pulled on hers. Noticing she was about to continue talking, he spun on the spot and landed right outside the Burrow's front door.

 

 

Ron walked forward as Ginny and Harry stepped out of the fireplace, the emerald flames dying down behind them. "Hey," he said quietly, "I need to talk to you two and Mum before George and Hermione show up." They followed him into the kitchen, where Mrs. Weasley was putting the finishing touches on her custard. "Okay, so it's been a fortnight, so what counts as them 'losing it'? Because we need to have that established just in case it happens tonight."

Ginny grinned and Harry laughed. "I almost forgot about that bet," Harry said with a smile.

"Well, it's got to be in front of us," said Ginny. "They'd probably complain about each other, right?"

"If you said 'losing it,' I would think that that would entail screaming and yelling," said Harry.

"Excellent," said Ron, rubbing his palms together. "So it has to involve yelling and complaining about the other person, right?"

"That sounds about right," said Ginny with a grin. "They're a bit late. Ooh, I wonder if they've killed each other."

"Ginny!" cried Mrs. Weasley, a reproachful look on her face. The three of them just laughed. "Harry, dear, could you-" The rest of her sentence was drowned out as two cracks were heard from outside the kitchen door, followed by angry voices shouting.

"Mum, I think they're here," said Ron sarcastically as opened the door to reveal his older brother and his best friend shouting at each other, both red in the face.

"HOW DARE YOU APPARATE AWAY WHILE I'M TALK-" Hermione was shouting, stopping mid-sentence as she realized most of the Weasley family was now watching her yelling. "Umm…hi there," she said quietly, slightly embarrassed. She smiled at the family, but it immediately slid off her face as George stalked past her silently, anger coming off of him in waves.

"What happened with you two?" asked Mrs. Weasley quickly as Hermione came in and hung up her coat on the rack by the door.

" _Hermione_ happened," said George coldly from the table where he was now sitting. "She took it upon herself to go into my room and completely reorganize it."

"I lost the cat in that warzone you call a bedroom!" Hermione shot back as she walked over to where Harry was standing by the oven.

"Was it really necessary to fold all my underwear and label the drawer?" asked George, his voice rising.

"You could have killed my cat!"

"Fine by me! The little monster already tried to kill me. I'd say it's fair game!"

"MY CAT IS NOT A KILLER! YOU'RE JUST A MORON!" Hermione shouted as she strode over to the table until she was standing across from George.

"A MORON?" shouted George, standing up so quickly the chair fell backwards and landed on the wood floor with a loud crash. Mrs. Weasley, Ron, Ginny, and Harry jumped at the noise, but Hermione and George ignored it, too wrapped up in their shouting match. "THAT'S RICH COMING FROM MISS HIGH MAINTENANCE HERSELF!"

"I'M NOT HIGH MAINTENANCE; YOU'RE JUST A SLOB!"

"YOU ARE COMPLETELY NEUROTIC!"

"WELL AT LEAST I DON'T USE WOMEN AND DISCARD THEM LIKE THE BLUEPRINTS THAT YOU HAD CRUMPLED ALL OVER YOUR BEDROOM FLOOR!"

There was absolute silence for a few beats as everyone stared at Hermione, who was breathing heavily, a victorious smile on her face, and George, who was clutching the back of a chair so tightly his knuckles were white, his blue eyes blazing with fury, every muscle in his body tense, like a rubber band about to snap.

"Well, at least I have a love life to speak of," said George quietly.

Now it was Hermione's turn to tense up, her lips pressing together into a fine, angry line, so reminiscent of Professor McGonagall. "You are utterly insufferable," she said after a moment.

"As are you," he said, returning her glare with one of his own.

There was another beat of silence before Mrs. Weasley said in an overly-chipper voice, "So, who's ready for dinner?"

As everyone filed in and sat down, George and Hermione sitting as far apart as possible, Ron spoke up. "So it's a tie?" he asked. Half of the table looked over at him in confusion while the other half buried their faces in their palms.

 

 

DAY FIFTEEN

George was walking around his room, trying to reorganize his room to his liking, rather than Hermione's, where there was a knock at his door. He looked over, confused. "Come in." The door opened and in the doorway stood Hermione, her eyes flicking between the floor and George's face. "Yes?" he asked quickly.

Her eyes flicked up once more to his face before she spoke to the ground. "I'm sorry I cleaned and organized your whole room. I shouldn't have, even though your room basically ate my cat." George chuckled at her choice of words and Hermione's head shot up, her eyes searching his face. "And I'm sorry I said that thing about the women you date. That was rude."

 

"I think I more than made up in rudeness with the love life comment. It was harsh and honestly, I have no idea about your love life, so it was rather unfounded."

"'Unfounded?' Look at you using big words," she joked.

George grinned. "You'd be surprised. Under this handsome exterior is an intelligent man."

"Well, I wouldn't go that far…" She flashed him a grin.

"Oh, you don't think so?" said George. She raised her eyebrow as he walked closer to her, until there was only about half a meter between them. He raised his arm and rested against the doorframe, leaning into it as he watched her, a small grin playing around his lips.

"Don't you even try this with me, George. It won't work. I'm not one of your girls," she said, trying to sound stern although a small smile was tugging at the corner of her lips.

"Would you like to be?" he replied, his voice somewhat deeper all of a sudden.

"You know I have a nasty right hook…"

He immediately removed his arm from the doorframe and backed up. "You're quick, you know that?" he said in his normal voice.

 

She smiled at him. "So are we okay?"

He looked at her for a second before replying, "Yeah, we're okay. Neurotic."

"Moron," she called over her shoulder as she walked away, though George saw a smile on her face as she turned. He grinned as he watched where she had just been a second ago. There was a little jingle and George looked down to see Balthazar standing in the doorway watching him.

"You know, this all boils down to being your fault," he said.

"Mrow."

"Why am I even talking to you? You're a cat. You probably have no idea what I'm saying." Balthazar sat down and hissed at George. "You are trying to kill me, aren't you?" The kitten stood up and pranced away, the bells on his collar jingling merrily. "I'm going to take that as a 'yes'."


	7. Chapter 7

DAY TWENTY

Hermione was sitting at the tiny table that served as their dinner table, reading The Quibbler and drinking her coffee, as George had left made a pot for the two of them. As she had settled down into her chair, she made a mental note to thank him later. She flipped past the table of contents and her eyes landed on the first article, the bright pink title of "Umbridge Back From the Dead" complimented by a caricatured zombie with a simpering smile, a pink cardigan, and a velvet bow atop dirty, lank curls. Chuckling, Hermione began to read.

 

_It is well-known that Dolores Umbridge, former Senior Undersecretary to the Minister and Head of the now-defunct Muggleborn Registration Commission, does not approve of magical creatures and anyone who she considered a "half-breed," and her caustic words towards the centaurs that live in the Forbidden Forest a few years back landed her in Saint Mungo's. Well, now she's at it again. Last month, we reported that Umbridge was rushed to Saint Mungo's after she was attacked by a band of goblins as she walked around her neighborhood in the evening. That same morning, she had petitioned to the Wizengamot to remove Gringotts from the control of the goblins. When asked for a reason, she responded that she "refused to associate with dirty vermin." The culprits' identities are still unknown, and the Ministry's aurors are at a loss for what to do as, in an unusual twist, every goblin they have interviewed has proudly taken full responsibility for the crime and denied that any other goblin assisted them. In another strange twist, when reporters tried to visit Umbridge for a quote on the matter, the nurses said there was no one on record by the name of Dolores Umbridge currently in the hospital. Has she checked out and been hiding? We at the Quibbler think not. A hospital insider has reported that there have been whispers about "special treatment," while another (who wished to remain anonymous) believes that Umbridge may have already died, and her body is now being used to test spells and potions that would prolong life. If Dolores Umbridge was already an enemy of the Wizarding community, a zombie Umbridge would be immensely more dangerous, and the Wizarding population should be on the lookout._

 

Hermione shook her head in amused disbelief. "Honestly, where do they get these ideas?" she said to herself aloud. As she flipped the page, she heard footsteps from behind her and she turned. It was another new female visitor, this time a tall, waif-like redhead. Hermione raised her eyebrows slightly.

"Morning," said Hermione rather unemotionally.

"Hello," said the woman, sounding rather haughty. She glanced over and saw the mug in front of Hermione. "Ooh! Coffee. Excellent. I could use a cup."

She threw her jacket over the back of the armchair and started walking over. Silently, Hermione surreptitiously pointed her wand at the pot of coffee and vanished it. "Sorry, none left. This was the last cup."

A flicker of disappointment flashed across the woman's face before she turned to survey Hermione. "I didn't know George lived with his sister."

Hermione looked at the woman for a second and blinked. Was she actually that dumb or was she trying to be rude? "He doesn't," said Hermione simply before looking back down at the magazine. Obviously the woman was not finished with her, though.

"So, what, you're his cousin?"

Hermione fought a grin and tried to keep her face as emotionless as possible. "No, all of his family is redheaded. Actually, you rather look like you could be his cousin. Are you? Because I think that's considered incest."

The woman's eyes widened and her lips pursed, obviously displeased with Hermione's last comment. "Then who are you?" she asked, rather rudely.

Honestly, she got this question far too often. It had happened so frequently since she had moved here that she had now started changing her answers, just for her own amusement. So far she had been his flatmate, his fraternal twin, his girlfriend, and George in his female form. "No, actually I'm his wife," she said calmly as she brought her cup to her lips.

"WHAT? HE'S MARRIED?" the woman screeched.

Hermione smiled at the woman. She knew she shouldn't be enjoying this, but if George had unconsciously made her the disposer of his playthings, she could at least have a little fun doing so. "He is irksome, isn't he?" she asked nonchalantly, taking another sip of her drink. The woman paled considerably as everything seemed to finally connect.

"So…he's…your…husband?" she asked, terrified. Hermione smiled at her. "Oh Merlin, I am so sorry! I had no idea! He didn't say-! I'm so, so sorry, ma'am!" She grabbed her coat and practically flew from the apartment, the door swinging shut behind her.

Hermione looked at the closed door for a minute before grinning to herself. "Well that was fun," she said to herself. "Better go get changed and drop the news to Mr. Granger-Weasley." She snickered at her own joke as she got up and headed to her bedroom.

 

 

George was helping a customer with a special order for her nephew when Lee walked up and tapped him on the shoulder. George turned to see his friend smirking at him. "Excuse me for a moment," George said with a smile to the woman. He stepped a little ways to the left, away from the customer, and turned to Lee. "What?"

"The missus would like a word," he said with a chuckle.

"Who?" Lee pointed to the front desk, where Hermione stood waiting, her arms folded across her chest. "Oh, Hermione, gotcha." He turned to the woman and smiled. "Ma'am, Lee will help you from here." He nodded his thanks to Lee and hurried over to Hermione. When she saw him coming, she looked at him pointedly and headed to the back room, where the extra products were stored. He followed her. "Yes?" he asked once they were away from the bustle of the front shop.

"George, have you noticed you have a tendency to run away from women?"

"Good morning to you too," he replied sarcastically.

"Why is it that every time you have a 'guest' over, you leave me with the unenviable task of removing them the next morning?"

"Uhh…" He had never really thought of this, but, looking back, he realized he did always leave to go to work, which left Hermione to essentially clean up after him. "I didn't realize I did that."

She raised an eyebrow and gave him a look of disapproval. "You have a problem, George."

"What problem?"

"You don't invest in these women, not even enough to wake them the next morning. Well, besides Charlotte, but you still lied to her, so that's not helping you." He rubbed the back of his neck, feeling sheepish. "I had to get rid of your newest conquest this morning. She won't be calling again, by the way."

"What did you say?"

"Well," said Hermione, staring into the middle distance, thinking. "She asked if I was related, and I said she must be because of her hair, which made last night incest." His eyes widened as he listened to Hermione, the little smile on her lips growing as she finished her story. "Oh, and then I said I was your wife." Hermione giggled. "She probably doesn't think too highly of you currently, but, then again, neither do I."

"Oh gee thanks, Hermione," he replied facetiously. "Now I'm an adulterer."

"Adulterer, compulsive flirt, same general field," she shot back.

He opened his mouth to argue, but he took one look at the look of disapproval on her face and his argument vanished. "Okay, fine. I'll admit I have a problem."

"Good. Now what are you going to do about it?"

"You want me to change immediately? That's a lot of personal growth in a short period." She frowned at him and he smiled weakly. "That was a joke, Hermione. Calm down." She shook her head slightly, obviously irritated with him. "Can we talk about this later? Work's busy right now." He started walking from the room and she followed.

"Alright," she sighed, "But you're not avoiding this. We're talking about this tonight."

"Fine. And I'm sorry about this morning," he said as he finally reached the counter, where Lee was ringing someone up. Hermione nodded and headed back towards the stairs to the apartment. He turned to see Lee smirking at him. "What?"

Lee chuckled. "Nothing. I'm sure you and the Duchess will have a lovely discussion tonight. I'd come to watch, but I'm out of popcorn." George smacked him on the arm and walked away. This was not a good morning.

 

 

George walked up the stairs, exhausted from a day filled with exploding products that shouldn't have mixed and a quick trip to Saint Mungo's for a nasty burn, all thanks to an aggravating blonde boy so reminiscent of Draco Malfoy who had thrown a temper tantrum in the middle of the "For Ages 14 and up" section. As he opened the door, he called, "Okay, Hermione, what would you like to talk about?"

"Oh good. You're back," said a pleased voice from the direction of the couch. His eyes traveled in that direction and fell upon a most unpleasant sight.

"Mum?"

"Hello George," said Mrs. Weasley with a smile.

Well, he was certainly awake now. "Hermione, can I talk to you in the other room for a moment?" he said in a voice of forced calm as he hurried over to her.

"Well, I was actually-, oh, okay I'll come with you then," she said, her sentence changing as he grabbed her upper arm tightly and pulled her up from the couch, dragging her with him into the hallway and then into his room.

He shut the door quickly and whirled around to glare at her. "Hermione, why the hell is my mum here?"

"I thought you might listen better to my point if it was coming from her," said Hermione with an innocent smile on her face.

George pinched the bridge of his nose as he breathed deeply. "Hermione," he said slowly, trying desperately not to shout at her, "I'm sure you don't understand this because you seem to have _no concept_ of the idea of privacy, but I have a social life mainly because I no longer live at home. I date because I no longer live at home. I bring girls home because I no longer live at home. And why do I no longer live at home?"

"Because you live here?" said Hermione haltingly, her voice lilting up into a question.

"Because my mother and father are at home, and I cannot have any of those things IF I LIVE AT HOME. So having my mum in MY home is rather a big problem, especially because we are discussing my dating life WHICH DOES NOT INVOLVE MY MOTHER."

"Oh," said Hermione after a few moments of silence in which all of this information seemed to be processing.

"Although I appreciate the nostalgia of returning to the old Hogwarts threat of 'I'll tell your mother,' _this_ would be a moment where it is _really_ inappropriate."

"Oh," she said again.

"You haven't told her about everything, right?" he asked. Hermione's eyes widened and she looked down at her shuffling feet. "Hermione, you didn't, right?" he asked cautiously. She ducked her head and looked away, an obvious sign of guilt. "No. Hermione, no, you did not."

"Well, I might have mentioned the sleeping over…and the leaving in the morning...and the number…," she muttered in a quiet voice, shifting guiltily and refusing to meet George's eye. George's eyes widened in shock and anger as she spoke and when she finally got to the last part of her statement, he turned and punched the wall in anger. The two loud cracks were almost drowned out by his cry of "DAMMIT HERMIONE!" Hermione's eyes widened in fear and she rushed forward to look at the hand that George was determinedly ignoring as blood dripped down his fingers. "George!" she chastised. "Look what you did!"

"Look what I did. Yeah, that's putting things in proper perspective," snarled George as he tried to pull his hand away from Hermione, who had a firm grip on it.

"Oh shut up," she said quickly as she checked over his hand. She pulled out her wand and, after a few carefully chosen spells, healed the split skin and knuckles George had just broken. "There, it's fixed."

"I don't give a damn about my hand, Hermione! You told my mother everything? Do you understand how damaging that is? I promised you we would talk tonight and I would stop, but then you had to do this? How the hell are you going to fix that?"

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry, okay! I crossed a line." George snorted and Hermione shot him a look. "Okay, fine. I crossed more than one line."

"Blew up the bloody line," George muttered.

"Okay! There were a plethora of lines that were crossed. I get it. I'll fix this, okay?" George started out of the room and she followed close behind. "I should have mentioned your anger management issues," she muttered. George turned around and glared at her before continuing out to the sitting room.

"George, is everything alright? I heard shouting and a loud noise," said Mrs. Weasley, standing up from the couch as she saw them enter.

"Just slipped and fell. That cat of hers again," George lied smoothly before shooting Hermione a pointed look.

"Umm, Mrs. Weasley," began Hermione nervously, "I've talked to George and I seemed to have called upon you in error." George snorted, but she seemed to ignore this. "We've talked and he has told me that he has already apologized to those women, and they have accepted his apology and are now on good terms with him." His eyes widened for a moment at the ridiculousness of this statement before he regained his cool composure. "He is also not bringing over other guests for the time that I stay here, which I think shows mature growth on his part."

Mrs. Weasley turned to look at him and he hurriedly hitched on a smile. "Is this true?"

"Would Hermione lie to you, Mum?" he said with a smile, knowing this would plant yet another seed of guilt in Hermione's heart. 'Good;' he thought, 'she bloody deserves to feel guilty.'

"Well, that's very mature of you, George. I'm proud of you taking responsibility for your actions," said Mrs. Weasley with a smile as she came over and hugged her son.

"I am an adult, Mum," he said wearily.

"Oh I know, dear," she said, patting his cheek. "But you'll never really grow up. And that's what makes you so wonderful at making people smile." She turned to Hermione and gave her a hug. "Well, I'm off. Arthur is taking me out to dinner tonight. He's so sweet. Well, I'll see you two this weekend! Love you!" And with a pinch of powder and whirl of green flames, she was gone.

George was still staring at the fireplace, a look of confusion on his face. "Did she just compliment me on being funny or say I'm still a child?"

"I'd say the latter, but I'm afraid you'll punch another wall," said Hermione dryly, earning another glare.


	8. Chapter 8

DAY TWENTY TWO

Hermione was at her desk at the Daily Prophet headquarters, reading over an article on the new exchange rates at Gringotts, written by one of the new interns, when a familiar owl flew through the open window and fluttered down to her desk. She put her quill back in the pot of red ink, looked up, and smiled at the medium-sized tawny owl who was staring at her expectantly. "Well, hello there," she said as she untied the letter from his leg. He stayed absolutely still, signaling that this was a letter to which Hermione was expected to respond immediately. Under the fold of the envelope she slid the silver paper knife that always rested on her desk, cleanly ripping it open and revealing the letter, which read:

 

Hermione,

I hate to ask on such short notice, but can you watch Teddy tomorrow? I usually wouldn't bother you about this, but Mum and Dad are out in Romania visiting Charlie, and Andromeda is sick. You're so good with him and he just adores you. Would you be able to? If so, I'd drop him off around eight tomorrow morning. Let me know and thanks very much!

Gin

 

Hermione flipped open her day planner and glanced at what was written down for the next day. She quickly picked up a green piece of paper, scribbled _Need to change tomorrow's meeting with new Head of Magical Games and Sports. Family business just came up. Will be away from office all day tomorrow. Thanks._ , and sent it zooming off to the office secretary. She then replied to Ginny's letter, affirming that she could watch Teddy, and sent it off with Aether, watching him fly out the open window before returning to her editing. 'No rest for the weary,' she thought.

 

 

DAY TWENTY THREE

George was just heading out from the loo when Hermione passed him in the hall, still dressed in her pajamas, her hair sticking up in places from sleep.

"Hey, I need to take a quick shower, so if Ginny shows up while I'm busy, will you explain that I'll be right out?"

"Uhh…sure," he said hesitantly, not really sure why this conversation was necessary at a quarter to eight in the morning. "Why is Gin-"

"Thanks!" She smiled at him and headed past him into the bathroom, not noticing she had cut him off mid-question. He heard the shower start a moment later and, baffled, he headed out to the kitchen. Ten minutes later found him sitting in the armchair, reading the morning's edition of The Quibbler and having toast, his tea and the Daily Prophet sitting on the table in front of him. Rather unexpectedly, the floo suddenly burst into life and out walked his sister, a bright-eyed Teddy in her arms.

"Morning George," said Ginny with a smile, looking around the room.

"What are you looking for?"

"Hermione."

"Ohh, okay, now that makes sense," he said, more to himself than to her. "She said she'll be out in a minute." Just as he finished speaking, Hermione entered as the same time that the floo lit up again, this time expelling Harry.

"Hey Ginny!" said Hermione brightly, walking out, now dressed in a bright blue shirt and some yoga pants, her hair tamed and in a plait, and taking the heavy bag that hung from Ginny's shoulder.

"Why are you only wearing shorts?" Harry asked George as he surveyed him with a furrowed brow.

"He doesn't like wearing clothes," replied Ginny and Hermione in tandem before George had even opened his mouth. Harry stared at his wife and his best friend bemusedly as the former handed off Teddy to the latter.

"Hold on a mo'," said George hurriedly, watching Hermione confusedly. "Why are you holding the baby?"

"Because he can't stand on his own," replied Ginny sarcastically.

George pursed his lips in mild irritation. "Oh you're so funny," he replied, pretending to laugh.

"We're watching Teddy today," said Hermione as she bounced Teddy in her arms, earning an adorable giggle from the baby.

"We're? When did I sign up for this?"

"When we adopted Teddy," replied Ginny, shooting him a reprimanding look.

"You two aren't even engaged yet!" he cried.

"Man up! You're his uncle!"

 

"Well, technically he's his almost god-uncle," said Hermione absent-mindedly as she pulled faces to make Teddy laughed. Ginny turned and shot her a look. "Sorry, not helping." She turned to George. "You don't have to do anything. He'll be fine with me."

"Are you saying I can't handle taking care of a baby?" he asked, affronted.

"Don't worry, George. I know you have more important things to worry about."

"How dare you! I am a good uncle!" He hurried over and took Teddy from her arms, throwing him up in the air before swiftly catching him, Teddy laughing hysterically. He turned and walked out of the room, still bouncing the baby in his arms, a bright smile on his face.

Hermione turned to Harry and Ginny with a smile. "Works every time."

Harry laughed as Ginny moved forward and hugged her. "Bless you for knowing how to work my brother," said Ginny quietly.

Hermione shrugged. "You two have fun. We'll be fine here." She smiled at them as they headed into the hearth and were swept away by the emerald flames.

 

 

"George?" There was no reply. "George?" she called again. Still nothing. With a sigh, she walked to George's room, where he was bent over a piece of parchment, writing furiously. Next to him, Teddy was happily rolling around on the layers of blankets George had lain on the floor, playing with a toy giraffe. "George, I have to run to the market. I'll be back in a few minutes. You'll keep an eye on Teddy, right?"

"Uh huh," he mumbled. Satisfied, she walked out, grabbed her bag and her coat, and headed down the stairs and out towards Diagon Alley.

 

 

Hermione walked into Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, the bell jingling as the door closed behind her. "Hey Hermione," called Lee from across the room.

"Hello, Lee," she called back. She was checking one of her bags and walking towards the stairs when she bumped into someone. "Oh, I'm sorry," she said, just as a deep voice replied, "My apologies." Hermione looked up and her eyes widened comically. "George?"

"Oh, hey Hermione!" he said, smiling at her. "Where have you been?"

"I was at the market. I left you to watch Teddy. Where is he?"

"You don't have him?"

"You mean _you don't?_ " They seemed to reach the same conclusion at the same time, their mouths falling open in shock. "Oh my god!" they both cried. George turned on his heel and ran up the stairs two at a time, Hermione hot on his heels, trying not to pay attention to the way her chest was suddenly constricted, making it hard to breathe.

"Teddy! Teddy!" George called as soon as he had flung the door open.

"He's one, George. He can't call back," Hermione replied, her tone a mere shadow of how acerbic it usually would have been had it not been for her fear.

George immediately ran into his room and called, "Hermione! He's not here!"

She finished searching the sitting room and kitchen and now ran to her bedroom, dropping the bags of groceries, too scared to notice the splintering sound of a dozen eggs shattering. She ran in, almost bumping into George, who had rushed over at the same time. As her eyes raked the room, she gasped, thankful. There, on the floor next to Hermione's bed, sat Teddy with an inside-out shirt on his head, surrounded by dirty laundry, the toppled laundry bin at his side. He looked up and giggled happily. As relief flooded through her and she felt the fear that had seized her heart begin to fade, she leaned against George, who was standing in the doorway next to her. He wrapped his right arm around her shoulders and breathed deeply as she rested her head against his shoulder.

"Thank Merlin," he whispered. She laughed weakly.

Hermione and George were finding out that babysitting was a lot more difficult than holding the baby for a while, like they usually did when the family got together. They had played with Teddy for hours on end, entertaining him with stuffed animals and his favorite stories, most of which came from "Beadle the Bard". Feeding Teddy had involved Teddy flinging peas, mashed potatoes, and chicken all over the kitchen as well as Hermione and George ducking often to avoid being covered in food. Next came bathing him, which proved to be, if possible, an even messier venture. While Hermione had avoided being covered in food, she was soaking wet by the end of the bath, as were the bathmats and the floor. While George carried Teddy, who was bundled up in a towel, to his room to put him in clean clothes that were not smeared with mashed vegetables, Hermione dried off the bathroom then herself. She walked into George's room to see him struggling with putting on Teddy's pants, as his legs were kicking furiously as he wailed, his face screwed up and rather red.

"Help me," George pleaded as she came to stand next to him. Together they managed to get his legs in the proper holes and Hermione swiftly picked him up, bouncing him as she hummed a tune. She walked out to the sitting room, still bouncing Teddy, who was starting to quiet down, and surveyed the mess in front of her. In the kitchen, there was food everywhere, especially on the walls and table. The sitting room floor was littered with fuzzy blankets, stuffed animals, and other assorted toys. George walked out a moment later and began cleaning up, but Hermione was more focused on getting Teddy to sleep. She paced around the sitting room, deftly avoiding the toys that threatened to trip her, and sang quietly to Teddy, smiling to herself as she saw his eyes start to close.

"You're gonna be a good mum someday," said George, walking over to her and watching her with a soft expression on his face.

"I left the baby alone," said Hermione guiltily, her mouth twisting into a grimace as she continued to rock the little boy in her arms.

"No," replied George. He said it with such a tone of mingled sadness and anger that it made Hermione look up. "You left him with me. You trusted him with me and I completely forgot he was there. I can't believe I did that." A shadow seemed to pass over his face as her said bitterly, "What kind of father would I ever be if I can't manage to watch my nephew for a few hours?" Hermione saw his jaw clench, his anger and frustration with himself resonating and reverberating through the silence. She watched him, completely forgetting to continue rocking Teddy. She had never seen George like this before, looking thoroughly defeated. "He's asleep," said George quietly, walking over and taking Teddy carefully from her arms. Holding the sleeping child in one arm, he used his free hand to retrieve his wand from his back pocket and transfigure the armchair into a crib. He rocked him and laid a gentle kiss on his forehead before laying him down and covering him with the blanket that was sitting on the coffee table. Hermione watched him silently, and he seemed to barely notice her as he walked back to the sofa and sat down, his eyes still focused on the crib, his usually-smiling mouth twisted into a grimace of worry and frustration. She walked over and sat down next to him. He turned and looked at her, smiling faintly before his attention flicked back to the sleeping baby a few meters from them.

"George," she said quietly.

"Hmm?"

"You're a wonderful uncle, misplacing your nephew aside," she said. Rather than smile, his eyebrows contracted even more. "Smile, George. It was a joke."

He looked over at her and Hermione saw the worry in his eyes. "Ginny will never trust me to watch him again," he said sadly.

"Well," she said, whispering conspiratorially, "I won't tell if you don't." He stared at her, obviously surprised. "And Teddy was fine, George. He had a great time playing with my dirty clothes."

George chuckled. "Thank you, Hermione," he said quietly.

"You're very welcome, George," she replied, leaning her head on his shoulder. She felt his cheek rest against the top of her head and smiled.

From that moment on, Hermione Granger and George Weasley were friends. There are some things you can't share without ending up liking each other, and taking care of a baby is one of them.


	9. Chapter 9

DAY TWENTY FOUR

"So today you have a meeting with the new head of Magical Games and Sports at nine, then we have a staff meeting at two, and final draft call at four, so they can get approved for tomorrow's edition," said the young man in front of her as he read the planner in his hand.

"Jonathan, didn't I have a lunch meeting with someone? The…gosh, the name escapes me…the head of the Wizengamot or something?" she asked, her eyes raking her schedule.

"Yes, you did, but Mister MacNeil had to cancel. Something about an emergency that just came up this morning," replied her assistant, everything from his concise way of speaking to the neat part of his dark blonde hair screaming how efficient and organized he was. He looked up from his papers and the hint of a smile played around his lips.

"Yes?" she asked, trying to keep the smile from her voice.

"I know Matilda is the head of the gossip column, but I've been told his 'urgent business' relates to the new secretary that has just come on as an intern for the Wizengamot," he replied, his eyes bright with the devilish sparkle she always saw in George's eyes.

"Well," she said, unsuccessfully hiding the small smirk that was playing on her lips, "I'm sure Mister MacNeil's business conquests are very important. And I'm sure Mrs. MacNeil would probably thank Matilda for the heads up." She saw understanding hit him as he grinned before quickly resuming his professional composure.

"Yes, Ms. Granger. Right away." He smiled her before heading out of her office and shutting the door quietly behind him.

Hermione smiled to herself as she watched the door close. Jonathan was her favorite person on her staff. Bright and earnest, he had applied before he had even taken his N.E.W.T.s, and once she had seen his exemplary grades, she had accepted him immediately. He was a sweetheart, always rushing around to make sure he could help anyone who needed it, and taking over for writers when they called in sick. As her assistant, he kept everything meticulously organized and had sent her home on more than one occasion when she was working much too late into the night. She went back to checking the papers on her desk and half an hour later, she heard a knock on her door. She looked up to see Jonathan opening the door, a tall man visible in the hallway a few paces behind him.

"Ms. Granger, the head of Magical Games and Sports is here to see you."

"Thank you, Jonathan. Send him in please."

A few moments later, a tall man walked in, Jonathan closing the door behind him. She stood up and smiled at him as she held out her hand. He walked forward and shook her hand firmly, smiling as he said, "Ms. Granger, it's very nice to meet you. The name's Thomas Rockwell." She gestured towards the chair on the other side of her desk and quickly surveyed him as he sat down, unbuttoning his blazer as he did so. He was quite tall, probably as tall as Ron, and had black hair that was cut short in an almost militaristic style that was nonetheless flattering. He was older than her, but probably by only a few years, like her and George. As she sat down at her desk and faced him, she noticed he had dark brown eyes that had a kind of light in them, as if he was always happy about something, even when he was not smiling.

"So, Mr. Rockwell, how can we, at the Daily Prophet, help you?" she said, interlocking her fingers and smiling at him politely.

"Well, I was told that I had to introduce myself to all the heads of the departments at the Ministry once I was given my position."

"But we are not strictly part of the Ministry," she said, somewhat confused.

A slow smile spread across his face. "No you are not, Ms. Granger," he said, cocking his head slightly to the side as he surveyed her. "But you are a very important person, not only because of the paper but for past events as well."

"Where are you going with this?" she asked, almost curtly.

"I feel public opinion is a very strong thing; it can make you or break you. I know how severely flawed the Ministry has been in the past, and as the head of a revitalized department, I hope to start on the right foot. As you are the head of one of the main sources of information, making sure my department, my teams, and myself are portrayed in the right light is quite important."

"Understandable," she replied slowly, "but why does it feel like you're apologizing for something you have yet to do?"

He grinned, as if in on a joke, before replying, "Because I've heard how tough of a critic you are, Miss Granger." Hermione noted his emphasis on the word Miss and bit the inside of her cheek. It was not something worth mentioning, but it did always irk her, as it made it feel like she was back in Hogwarts, being called on by one of the professors, instead of a successful businesswoman in charge of a whole company. "If I may ask, why couldn't you meet me yesterday for our original meeting?"

"I had family business to attend to," she said, looking down at her papers to check something. She knew she had to have him sign a few things connected to publishing rights and permission for possible future interviews of his staff or his teams.

"Ohh, husband's family?" he asked, his tone sympathetic.

"I'm not married," she muttered, still rifling through her papers, unable to find the forms she needed.

"So your boyfriend then?" he asked.

She paused and slowly raised her head, her lips parted in confusion. "No, not that either." She watched as a look of triumph flickered over his features before his normal, easy smile was back.

"Well, I shouldn't pry," he said, his tone apologetic as he watched her carefully.

"No, that's actually my job, being a reporter and all," she replied wryly. He chuckled and took the papers and quill she handed him, signing the pages with a flourish before handing them back. She set them in a green filing folder, which flew out the door and to Jonathan's desk a moment later, the door closing with a snap behind it. He stood up, as did she, re-buttoning his jacket as he did so. "It was nice to meet you, Mr. Rockwell," she said courteously. She held out her hand and he shook it, but kept a hold on her hand when she tried to pull away.

"It was very nice to meet you, Ms. Granger." He paused and his tongue flicked out, wetting his lips quickly before he continued. "Do you have any plans for lunch today, Ms. Granger?"

"Indeed I do," she said, smiling through her lie. "Why do you ask?" She bit the inside of her cheek, knowing exactly why he was asking her this.

"No reason," he said softly, his brown eyes raking her face before finally letting go of her hand. He walked to the door and flashed her a charming smile as he turned before walking out. "If you're ever free, let me know."

The brushed glass door closed with a click and she watched his silhouette shrink and then fade as he left, her lips pursed as she thought.

 

 

DAY TWENTY SIX

Hermione walked in to the flat, letting her bag slide off her shoulder and drop to the floor with a noisy thunk before she shook off her coat and hung it on the coat rack.

"Hermione, is that you?" called George from another room of the flat.

"Nope, it's your brother Charlie walking in through the front door," she replied sarcastically.

She heard a bark of laughter before George appeared, walking out, wearing only his shorts again, this time a shade of blue that reminded Hermione of the sky on a warm spring day. In his hands he held three shirts, four pairs of trousers hanging off his arms. "Help me, will you?"

"You're twenty-two, George. I'm sure you can put on your own clothes," she joked as she walked to the kitchen and poured herself a glass of water.

"Help me pick out what to wear," he commanded, pouting slightly.

"Why? Where are you going?"

"Out, of course! It's Friday night."

"Oh, silly me. How could I have forgotten?" replied Hermione in a voice of false shock.

"What are your plans?" he asked as he followed her into the sitting room, dumping all of his clothes on his armchair as he did so.

"I'll probably just make some dinner and then read one of my new books."

"Hermione!" he cried exasperatedly. "You read all day at work. Why, in the name of Merlin, do you want to do more of it when you get home?"

"Because I love it, George, as you very well know. There is nothing wrong with loving reading." He sat down next to her and held the sides of her head between his strong hands, looking at her intently. "Umm…why are you holding my head, George?"

"Because you need a break."

"And holding my head will help?"

"No. It won't. But it got your attention," he said matter-of-factly before letting her go. "Come with me tonight!"

"No," she said immediately.

"Come on!" he cajoled, his blue eyes wide and begging, like a puppy's. "You can be my wingman!"

"What?" she laughed. "Your wingman?"

"Well, my anti-wingman, really," he said, grinning as he explained. "Yeah, you can come with me and make sure I don't take anyone home, which would upset you."

"George, I could not care less about who you sleep with. I just don't like being the one to get rid of them."

"But if I don't being anyone home, there's no one to get rid of in the morning!" He leaned towards her, smiling hopefully.

"Why do I have to be there? Can't you just make sure you don't take someone home?"

He grinned at her and raised his right eyebrow. "Sometimes it's really not up to me, Hermione. Apparently, I'm just irresistible." She snorted. "It's true. You are just freakishly immune to my charm."

She rolled her eyes and pushed him away, her cold hand contrasting with his warm bare chest, making him laugh. "You are so full of yourself."

"And you're terribly boring. Yes, we know the basics," he said, laughing as he avoided her hand, which had shot out to swat him. "Come on, Hermione. I'll even make you a deal. I'll stay in next Friday and do whatever you want to do. _Anything._ " He winked.

Hermione laughed. "Well, I can assure you it would not be anything close to what you usually spend your Friday nights doing." He laughed. "Fine," she said with a sigh. "I'll come with you. Let me go get changed."

He beamed and got up at the same time she did. "Excellent!" Hermione glanced at the pile of clothes on the chair and walked over, picking out a hunter green shirt and some dark khaki trousers. She threw them to George and laughed as they hit him in the face. "Thank you!" he called, his voice muffled by the clothes.

"You're welcome," she called back as she headed to her room. George watched her leave, a bright smile on his face.


	10. Chapter 10

"Aren't you ready?" he whined through the door to her bedroom.

She rolled her eyes at the thin wall separating them and called back. "No."

"Why not?"

She shook her head exasperatedly and pulled her shirt over her head before walking to the door. She listened silently at the door before she carefully rested her hand on the door handle and, as quickly as she could, opened the door. George, who had been leaning on the door in apathy, fell backwards into the room, his back hitting the hardwood floor with a loud smack. She laughed and headed back to her armoire to check her hair in the mirror that sat on top. She heard George grunting and groaning as he stood up and headed over to her.

"You're wearing that?" he asked, looking her over. She turned and shot him a look that he didn't see, as he was too busy going through the clothes hanging up in her dresser.

"What do you think you're doing? Who gave you permission to go through my stuff?"

He chuckled, obviously catching that she was sounding very much like he did about two weeks earlier with the "Bedroom Cleanup Debacle." "Hermione, I think we threw out that rule when you walked into my room to steal a pair of socks and scared Lee half out of his wits."

"How was I supposed to know he was in there changing?" she replied as she surveyed herself in the mirror and pinned up a few pieces of her hair.

"We were just lucky he already had his pants on," George laughed. He turned from the dresser, a hanger in hand. "What about this?"

Hermione surveyed the tight black dress Ginny had forced her to buy for some stupid party for which she had needed company. "No," she replied flatly. "Not in a million years. That's an emergency dress."

"You're actually going out to a bar. That's such a rare occurrence that that probably constitutes as an emergency," he replied dryly.

"I look fine, George!" He pursed his lips as he looked her up and down. It wasn't like she was wearing her work robes or something. She was in some nice dark jeans, some black heels, and a simple white shirt.

"But it's boring!"

"Fine. Then go without me." She crossed her arms, challenging him.

He rolled his eyes. "Alright, alright," he sighed, walking forward and grabbing her hand, dragging her from the room. "You're so bloody stubborn," he muttered as they stopped by the front door and pulled on their coats.

 

 

As they walked in, he surveyed the area. This was his favorite bar, one of his several haunts to which he and Lee had often come to have a good time with their mates or chat up some birds. There were always clear groups in the bar, and this one was no different, complete with the occasional straggler or person who could flow from group to group. There, by one corner of the bar, was a group of blokes about his age, talking loudly and cheering occasionally. He spotted one of the men who looked a little more nervous, and a little more drunk, than the others. 'Ah,' he thought to himself, 'bachelor party.' He next surveyed multiple groupings of two to four birds, all sipping their brightly colored drinks and tittering while they surveyed the men around them. There was the occasional couple and more people just there with a friend or on their own. Pleased with his initial report, he turned to Hermione, who was pulling a book out of her bag.

"You have got to be joking."

She looked up, her eyes wide with confusion. "What?"

"You brought a book to a bar?"

"So?"

"It's a bar, Hermione, not the bloody library!"

She raised her eyebrow and shot him a stern look that he had received so often when they were at school. "I said I'd come with you and I'll help if you start thinking about taking some…" She looked around the bar and her eyes fell on a group of obviously-fake blondes who were strapped a tad too tightly into their dresses. "…girl home," she finished.

He followed her gaze and grinned. "And where are you going to be?"

"Somewhere reading and generally taking up no space that those other women are so desperate to fill," she said, a slight edge to her voice as she noticed a couple girls glaring at her because of her proximity to George. George watched as one of the girls, a leggy blonde one with over-processed hair, eyed Hermione's outfit quite obviously and, with a scathing look, turned to her friend, obviously pointing and making absolutely no effort to be subtle. Hermione pursed her lips and looked up at George. "Honestly, I have no idea how you can even put up talking to some of these women, let alone sleep with them. I mean, some are just so tacky," she said, raising her voice slightly as she glanced over at the woman who had just given her the look. The woman's mouth dropped open, obviously insulted by Hermione's comment. Hermione laughed quietly to herself, making George laugh.

"Hermione, who knew you could be so positively lethal towards women! I must have missed some excellently scathing comments when Ron was dating Lavender."

Hermione giggled. "Indeed you did," she said with a hint of a wicked grin. "Go, go have fun," she said, shooing him away like a mother trying to get her overly-shy child to make friends at the park. "I'll be over _there_ somewhere," she said, vaguely gesturing towards a corner of the bar.

 

 

Hermione settled herself in a small booth tucked away in the corner of the bar. Despite how George ragged on her about bringing a book and refusing to be the social butterfly, Hermione was more adept at this than George expected her to be. She had just opened her book when a handsome busboy walked over, a drink balanced on the tray that rested on the upturned palm of his hand.

"Excuse me, miss," he said, smiling at her with his bright white teeth, "But a gentleman from the bar just sent this over." He was in the process of setting it down in front of her when she leaned forward.

"Can I ask what it is before I accept it?" she said with a small smile.

"You certainly can. It's a martini straight, no olive."

She glanced over at the bar and saw a couple of men watching her. A brunette one waved slightly. She turned back to the busboy. "Could you do me a favor and tell him that 'I prefer butterbeer or eggnog, but the attempt was appreciated?'"

The busboy grinned. "You're a feisty one, aren't you?"

"You have no idea," she said teasingly, smiling back at him. He winked at her and headed back to the bar.

 

 

George walked up to the bar and smiled cheerily at the bartender, a pretty girl with pin-straight, strawberry-blonde hair that was held back in a ponytail and fastened with a small red ribbon. "Hello, Martha!"

She turned around and smiled brightly when her eyes fell on him. "George Weasley! Back for another rousing game of 'Who's the Lucky Girl Tonight?'"

He laughed. "Anything I should know about your lovely patrons tonight?"

She looked around the room as she cleaned out a glass with a bright green dish towel. "Well, there's a stag night tonight, but you already got that, eh?" She grinned at his knowing smile and continued. "There are a couple gaggles of girls here tonight. I'd watch out for the one in the red dress, oh make that the two in the red dresses; they've had plenty to drink tonight already and they keep throwing themselves at everyone. It's not a nice sight. Also, the one glaring at your little girlfriend there is one to avoid. She's already sparked up a few heated conversations with some of the other girls."

"She's not my-"

"I know, I know, but she's replacing Lee tonight." Martha grinned. "I think that's about it. Want your usual?"

"Tom Collins minus the gin," they both said in unison.

She laughed. "Knowing you're completely sober makes them throwing themselves at you even more hilarious."

"I'm here to make you smile. You sure I can't convince you, Martha?" he asked, leaning over the bar and winking at her.

"Married three years and you know it, playboy," she said with a grin as she mixed him his drink.

He pretended to look disappointed. "Always worth a shot, eh?"

She laughed and handed him his drink just as one of the blokes from the bachelor party moved next to George and ordered a martini straight, no olive.

 

 

Hermione looked up from her new book, one about muggle fairytales made into a deeper and more grown-up story, when she heard someone sit in the bench across from her. She raised her eyebrow at the light-haired man that had sat himself across from her.

"Can I help you?" she asked politely.

"You enjoy playing hard to get, don't you?" She blinked, rather unconcerned and completely turned off by the man's brusque manner. "You don't take my friend's drink, you sit over here all by yourself, and you act so aloof!" he slurred slightly.

"You can leave now," she said commandingly.

The man's sneer fell off his face at his surprise of being rebutted as if she was his mother or a disapproving teacher. He opened his mouth to say something, but just then, another man walked over and rested his hand on his friend's shoulder. "John," he said quietly, "Come back over. That lot's missing you." The man called John stood up, stared at Hermione for a moment as if struck dumb, and then walked away, back to the rest of the bachelor party. "I am so sorry," the new arrival said in his quiet voice.

Hermione tilted her head slightly as this exchange happened. He was not too tall, probably only about 1.706 meters, with curly dark brown hair and bright hazel eyes that sparkled behind horn-rimmed glasses. She recognized him as the man who had waved at her when the drink had been brought over.

"He's a right pain in the arse when he drinks. I keep telling my mates to watch his intake, but no one listens to me."

Hermione laughed quietly. "Would you like to sit down?"

"Thank you," he said with a small smile. "I should have known you were not a martini drinker. With a book here, you must be more into comfort and flavor than the supposed impressiveness of a drink." He set a small glass of warm eggnog on the table in front of her. "My treat, as an apology for my friend's obnoxiousness."

"Thank you," she said with a small smile, taking a small sip and humming happily. She just loved eggnog, especially when there was barely any alcohol in it, but just enough to make you feel a little warm inside. "I'm Hermione."

"Malcolm," he said, holding out his hand. She placed hers in his and they shook. "It's very nice to meet you, Hermione."

She smiled shyly and took another sip of her drink.

 

 

This was not an ideal night for George. The girls here were veering from one extreme to the next, from being completely and pissedly falling over to picking fights with each other and being completely catty. Honestly, this was madness. This was like a hen party gone wrong. He needed to leave. He needed to find Hermione and get out of here before another couple of girls started screaming about who he loved more, despite the fact that he had not talked to either of them. He scanned the bar and saw Martha mixing drinks for some newcomers, the stag party pissedly staggering around and doing shots, and Hermione talking to someone. Wait. Hermione was actually talking to someone? And drinking something? Now the night was officially backwards. It was definitely time to go. He strode over and stopped at their table, overhearing their conversation as they did so.

"Really? No, you're joking! There is no way!" she said as she laughed.

"I swear," said the man, half-laughing, as he lifted his glasses and wiped his streaming eyes. "I could not believe it but I saw it with my own eyes!"

"I know they print some ridiculous stories, but that has to be their best. Didn't they just report that she was dead a fortnight ago?"

"They did! And that she's an inferius or zombie or something! And now this!"

George coughed as he got close. Hermione looked up and smiled at him. "Oh, hello George. Malcolm, this is my flatmate George. George, this is Malcolm. He works at the Quibbler."

George nodded his head genially at the man before turning back to Hermione. "It's time we should be off," he said quietly.

"Oh, okay," she said, sounding almost dejected by this comment, which George found curious. "Well, it was lovely talking to you, Malcolm. And thanks again for the drink."

"No problem. I had a great time." They both stood up and right as Hermione was turning towards George, Malcolm spoke up again. "Any chance I'll see you again?" he asked quickly.

She turned and surveyed him quickly, a small smile on her face. George, in turn, surveyed the two of them. Was the bloke honestly hitting on Hermione? Was she actually accepting? She took out the spare bit of parchment that she used as a bookmark and pulled a self-inking quill from her small bag. She scribbled something onto the paper and handed it to the bespectacled man.

"Here's my surname and department at the Daily Prophet. Send me an owl and I'll see what I can do," she said, a flirty smile playing around her lips as she handed it to the man.

He grinned and took it, glancing at it before putting it in his pocket. "It was nice to meet you, Hermione. Have a nice night."

"You too, Malcolm," she said. She smiled at him before turning and heading towards the door.

George quickly nodded at this Malcolm fellow before hurrying after his flatmate. This had to be one of the _weirdest_ nights.


	11. Chapter 11

DAY THIRTY-THREE

Hermione hummed happily as she closed her bedroom door and pulled her shirt off with one arm. She shook her hair out, brushing the static hair clinging to her cheeks as she shimmied out of the skirt she wore under her robes for work, which were thrown across her neatly made bed. This was going to be a nice night, she had decided. She had gotten out of work early, stopped off at her favorite used bookstore, and had a new recipe to try out that her mum had sent her, the index card covered with oil splatters that slightly smeared her mother's neat handwriting. She moved about her room, putting her robes away as she pulled on some yoga pants and a t-shirt before tying her hair up and heading towards the bathroom to wash her face. She was never a huge fan of makeup but she wore a smidge, just to make sure she looked awake and presentable, but always took it off as soon as she got home. She heard the front door open and close as heavy footfalls moved around the house. Apparently George had just called it a day as well. Not thinking much of it, as it was Friday and thus her night to have the house to herself, she blindly grabbed a towel, her eyes squeezed shut and her face dripping, and patted her face dry.

"Hello George," she called as she passed his room, whose door was cracked open.

"'Lo!" he called back.

She nipped into her room, grabbing her new book and her recipe card and headed to the kitchen, a bright smile on her face as she rummaged through the icebox to find all the necessary ingredients. She was in the middle of peeling carrots when she heard footsteps behind her and felt warm breath on the back of her bare neck.

"So, what are we having for dinner?"

She turned and grinned at her flatmate, rather confused. "We?"

"Yes, you and I makes 'we'," George said with a grin.

"But it's Friday."

"It is!" replied George in a doting tone used when talking to a precocious toddler. "Good job, Hermione!"

She rolled her eyes and swatted him, making him laugh. "My point is that you go out on Fridays."

"Generally, yes, but I promised you last week that if you came with me to the bar, I would stay at home this Friday and do whatever you wanted."

"Oh," she breathed, recalling the conversation. "Well, then apparently we are having carrot soup."

"Excellent! How can I help?"

Hermione blinked, completely unaccustomed to George not only being here, but offering to help in what they had agreed was most certainly her domain. "Uhh…you can help peel carrots. That's relatively safe." She picked up her wand from the table behind her and duplicated her vegetable peeler, handing the copy to George and demonstrating how to use it. About five minutes in to peeling the huge pile of carrots, having already ignored George's multiple comments on how she could peel them by magic in a few seconds, she heard a hiss of pain from next to her and saw a few drops of dark red mingling with the bright stripes of orange that were filling the sink's basin. "George, are you okay?" she asked quickly as she put down her peeler and turned to see him holding his right index finger tightly between his left thumb and index finger.

He grimaced slightly. "I'm fine, Hermione," he said quickly, moving his hands as if to hide them.

"Come here," she said, grabbing her wand with one hand and his bicep with the other as she walked out of the room, bringing him to the bathroom, where there was better light. "Now show me what happened." He did not move, still holding his finger tightly, a few drops of blood slipping from between his fingers and splashing on the tile floor. "George," she said in her best imitation of Molly. He sighed and released his hold. Hermione's eyebrows shot up as she saw he had missed the carrot and sliced a huge stripe of his skin off, the end holding on by no more than a millimeter. "Let me clean it first and then I'll heal it." She muttered a few words, holding her wand over the cut that was now bleeding freely and George hissed in pain.

"Bugger," he muttered, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment.

"I'm sorry!" she said apologetically. "I swear it'll be over in a second!" She quickly waved her wand and watched as the skin seemed to sew itself back, turning red for a moment before going back to normal.

George flexed his finger, watching it carefully. "Thanks, Hermione," he said. "Let me repay the favor." Before she had time to ponder what that odd comment had meant, he had walked out of the bathroom and back into the kitchen. By the time she had joined him there, all the carrots had peeled and chopped themselves and were sitting neatly in a blue glass bowl. She shot him a look, her eyebrow raising as she pursed her lips at him, and he grinned. "What? I was saving you from the possibility of more injuries!" She shook her head and bumped him with her hip as she moved to the next step of the recipe.

 

 

"That, Hermione, was some excellent soup. I should help in the kitchen more often," George said as he licked his spoon happily.

"Oh, and have more accidents? Yeah, that sounds like a good idea," Hermione replied sarcastically as she finished her last spoonful.

"Oh come on! It was fun! Admit it, Hermione!"

"Oh fine, it was fun, even though you nearly gave me a heart attack when you almost spilled all the soup."

"What's life without a bit of risk, eh?" She smiled as she set her bowl in the sink, where it began to wash itself before setting itself on the towel on the counter to dry. "So, what are we going to do next?"

She watched him for a moment, rather surprised. "You're honestly not bored with me yet?"

"Hermione," he said as he stood up and gently took her hand in his, his voice soft, "I could never get bored of you."

She watched him for a moment, not sure how to feel about such a tender moment, until she saw a smile tugging on the corner of his lips despite his monumental efforts to continue looking as sincere as possible. "You jerk!" she cried, a shocked look lighting up her face, followed by a bright smile as she swatted him. He cackled gleefully and blocked her attacks with his arms. He quickly moved behind her and picked her up by the waist, pulling her feet up from the ground and laughing at her shriek of shock and attempts to get back down.

"You are so easy to mess with, Hermione!" he laughed, his mouth right next to her cheek as he held his struggling flatmate . She finally gave up her attempts at prying his arms from around her waist, laughing too hard to be taken seriously. He put her down and walked to the sofa, where she dropped down next to him, her face flushed from laughing so much. "So, what's next?"

She picked up the worn book from the coffee table and showed it to him. "I have a new book I bought. It's a muggle book, a murder mystery."

"Well, that sounds interesting enough," he said with a smile, resting his feet on the table and the back of his head in his palms, his arms now folded behind him.

Hermione put her palm to his forehead, brushing away some of the stray hairs as she did so. "Are you feeling alright, George?"

It was now his turn to roll his eyes and push her hand away. "Oh shush! Start reading," he commanded.

Surprised, Hermione opened the book and began to read aloud.

 

 

Three hours later had found Hermione sitting on the sofa, her feet resting on the coffee table in front of her, her left hand holding the book open, her right hand playing with George's hair as she read. George's legs were hooked over the arm of the sofa, his back against the seat of the sofa and his head in Hermione's lap. His eyes were closed, but not in a restful way, but as if he was thinking something through, his teeth biting on his full bottom lip in an aggravated manner.

"…and that's the end!" finished Hermione, flipping the book closed with her thumb.

"WHAT?" shouted George, sitting up quickly and knocking the book from her hand.

"Hey!"

"But that's wrong!"

"What's wrong?"

"The businessman did it!"

"The butler did it, George."

"But the businessman did it!"

"George, the businessman was the victim. It wasn't a suicide. And if he was dead, he couldn't have killed his wife."

"But he did it!"

"That's not how the author wrote it!"

"WELL THE AUTHOR IS WRONG!"

Hermione smiled as she surveyed George's look of indignation, his cheeks flushed and his dark blue eyes alight with emotion. "George, it's only a book," she said soothingly. He crossed his arms and pouted in frustration. Hermione laughed, seeing for a moment a glimpse of what a young George must have looked like, pouting when his mother yelled at him for playing yet another prank on his baby brother. She cupped his cheek with her palm, his hair just tickling her fingertips. "George," she said slowly, "It's okay. It was a book, not real life."

He gave her an angry look that she laughed off, knowing he was just being petulant. He frowned when he saw she was ignoring his anger, but soon smiled, giving over to her laughter. "Besides the fact that the author was wrong about who was the murderer and I was right, that was a great book," he said. He checked his watch and his eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Half past ten! The time went by quickly, eh? This has been great fun. We should do this every weekend. Not Friday, though. I do have to make an appearance at the bar occasionally." He winked roguishly.

"What would the brainless women of the bar do without you?" she replied sarcastically as she stretched. She had been sitting in one position for far too long, although she hadn't noticed the time passing.

George stood up and stretched his arms above his head, his shirt rising and showing a good seven and a half centimeters of toned midriff. Hermione's eyes lingered on it for a moment before George began to talk, lowering his hands and thus his shirt. "One of these days, Hermione, you'll fall victim to my charm. You just wait." He winked at her as he shot her a handsome smile.

Hermione snorted. "I'd like to see that day."

"You just wait."

"Uh huh. Oh, and speaking of the bar, I'll be out tomorrow night," she said as she picked up her book and stood up.

His eyebrow raised as he surveyed her curiously. "Oh yeah? Who you meeting?"

"I never said I was meeting anyone."

"It's that bloke from the bar, isn't it? The one with the glasses."

"That's so specific, George. You really have a knack for description." He gave her a knowing look and she shook her head. "Yes, I'm meeting Malcom, that bloke with the glasses."

"Look at you, Hermione! Going to bars, going on dates with random blokes…"

"Malcolm is not a random bloke!" Hermione cut in.

"Next you'll be taking them home!" His mouth dropped open, a look of pleased shock passed over his face. "Merlin, you're turning into me!" He laughed before assuming a look of mock-horror. "Merlin! I just stayed in and read a book. Oh god, I'm turning into you! Check my forehead! Do I have a fever?" He grabbed her wrist and slapped her palm to his forehead.

"Oh shuttup!" said Hermione, who was trying desperately to keep an offended look on her face, but she couldn't help smiling at his antics.

He grinned and ruffled her hair, messing up her neat bun. "Goodnight, Mione. Thanks for the fun night." He gave her shoulder a little squeeze, his thumb gently brushing up and down the curve of her neck, before he shot her a wink and walked away, towards his bedroom. Hermione smiled despite herself. That was the first time he had ever called her "'Mione."


	12. Chapter 12

DAY THIRTY-SEVEN

Hermione opened the door to the flat and headed in, exhausted. Her day had been absolute chaos. First, Jonathan had been out sick with the flu, as had four other staff members. The copy editor had come to work completely out of his mind from much too much medication, determined to make it to work despite his horrible head cold, and had ended up sending a copy filled with errors to the printer, forcing Hermione to rush down and rescind the whole order just as they were about to be sent out to the public. And just to top it off, she felt as if the flu was creeping into her system. She shut the door behind her and headed to her room, letting her bag slide off her shoulder and hit the ground with a loud _thunk_.

"Hello Hermione," called George from somewhere in the apartment.

"Hi," she called back. She was just in the middle of unzipping her skirt when she heard a knock on the front door.

"Can you get that?" the both yelled at the same time. Hermione sighed. "I've got it," she called. She headed out of her room and to the door, zipping her skirt back up as she did so. She opened the door and, to her complete surprise, Cressida Collingsworth strode in. "Yes, please come in," Hermione muttered sarcastically as she shut the door.

Cressida turned her waiflike body, clad today in a deep, eggplant-purple wrap dress, and gave Hermione a condescending glance. "Sarcasm is so unattractive."

Hermione took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. All the reasons why she did not like her former flatmate were rushing back to her. "Cressida, why are you here?"

"Well," she drawled in a bored fashion, glancing at her long, almond-shaped nails, today covered with onyx polish, "You paid through the end of this month and since you weren't there, I decided to refund you. Merlin knows you could use the money."

"You're such a giver," replied Hermione dryly.

"Yes, I know," she replied with a minute toss of her ebony hair. She fished through the mahogany crocodile skin handbag that hung off her twig-like left arm and pulled out a small drawstring bag that jangled and clinked as she moved it. She handed it over to Hermione, who took it, rather surprised.

"Thank you, Cressida." The model shrugged in reply, her eyes scanning the apartment, her lips pursing ever so slightly. "By the way, how did you know where I live now? I never left an address with you."

"Yes, of that I am aware," Cressida replied with a self-pitying sigh. "I had to go all the way to your work and I wanted to leave it there, but they wouldn't let me so I demanded I have your new address. You could hardly expect me to make it down there a second time in order to meet you there."

"Yes, that would be exhausting, wouldn't it?"

Either missing or ignoring the sarcasm, Cressida replied with a sigh, followed by, "Well, I must be-." Her words faded away and Hermione, who hadn't been watching her, suddenly looked over, wondering why she had stopped talking.

George had just walked out from his bedroom, too busy pulling on a t-shirt over his head, his hair still damp from the shower, to notice the two women in the room. His head popped out from the shirt and he looked around, freezing when he saw Cressida, a slight frown on his face, obviously trying to place her. Hermione glanced over at Cressida and saw she was practically salivating as her eyes locked onto George's toned midriff over which he had yet to pull his shirt. Catching himself, he finished pulling on his shirt and smiled genially.

"So sorry. I didn't know we had company. I would have come out fully dressed if I had known," he joked. He walked forward and held out his hand to shake. "George Weasley."

As he talked, Cressida's manner did a complete one-eighty. Her bored, aloof demeanor was suddenly replaced with the sultry manner that Hermione knew she turned on when faced with a member of the opposite sex. Her pouty lips had now curved into a smile and her violet eyes suddenly glinted predatorily. "Cressida Collingsworth," she replied smoothly. "I wasn't informed Hermione's new flatmate was a man."

"Well, I was informed that Hermione's old flatmate was a woman," George countered jokingly. Cressida let out a tinkling laugh which made Hermione grimace.

"Cressida, weren't you just leaving?" asked Hermione pointedly.

"No," replied Cressida slowly, looking George up and down, "I don't believe I was."

 

 

"And then I did this fabulous shoot in Moscow. The art director was fabulous, totally understood what the designer's vision was. He did try to put me in back and put that twat Zoya my spot in the front because she's Russian, but that was shot down quite quickly. Naturally, it came out stunning. I'm currently having that cover framed to hang in my kitchen."

Hermione's forehead slipped from the hand holding it and she awoke with a start. She had been dozing in and out as Cressida babbled on about her modeling career, for…Hermione checked her watch, for twenty minutes now. Hermione had already heard most of the stories, having had to deal with her for a whole year, but she thought she had escaped this mind-numbingly and disgustingly egotistical twaddle when she moved in with George. Speaking of George… Hermione looked over from her edge of the sofa to George, who sat in the armchair across from the other end of the couch, where he faced Cressida. Hermione recognized the glazed over eyes and small smile that she had always seen on Ron's face in the middle of History of Magic. She snorted, which seemed to rouse George, who blinked a few times as he came to, careful to maintain the small smile so it looked like he had been paying rapt attention all along.

"That's just fascinating. Well, I hate to cut this lovely time short," said George suddenly, shooting Cressida a handsome smile, "but Hermione and I have to head over to a friend's house in a few minutes, and he hates when we're late."

"Oh," said Cressida, her tone light and airy. "Well, I'd hate to impose." She smiled sweetly, and Hermione resisted the strong urge to make a derisive noise. They all stood and headed towards the front door.

"It was very nice meeting you, Cressida," said George politely, holding out his hand for her to shake.

Cressida smiled seductively and, with a quick flick of her head, tossed her dark hair ever so slightly so it showed more of her swan-like neck. "It was wonderful to meet you, George." She shook his hand, her hand lingering in his for a beat more than necessary. George smiled at her and headed back towards his room, leaving Hermione and Cressida alone once again. She turned and, as if flipping a switch, she shifted back to her usual self. "How in the world does someone that handsome deal with you on a regular basis?"

Rather taken aback by such a blunt comment, it took Hermione a moment to collect herself. "Thank you for bringing the money, Cressida. I appreciate it."

"Yes," she replied in her normal, bored drawl as she walked to the front door. She opened it and began to walk out but as she walked through the doorframe, Hermione following her, she turned. "He's single, right?" she asked, her perfectly sculpted eyebrows raising expectantly.

"He's gay," Hermione replied shortly before shutting the door in the woman's face.

 

 

DAY THIRTY-NINE

"Miss Granger?"

Hermione looked up from the papers scattered across her desk, her quill between her teeth, her hair sticking out at odd angles from the bun she had tied it up in agitatedly a little while earlier. "Huh?"

"Miss Granger?"

It was Jonathan, waiting just outside her door. "Oh, come in." The door opened and he stepped in before closing the door behind him quietly. "Sorry, Jonathan. I'm a bit off this week."

He smiled at her before walking over to her shelf, on which a mug and a pitcher of water stood. He neatly poured some water and tapped the mug with his wand. It began to steam and he dropped a teabag into it before walking over and setting it on her desk. "I've noticed," he said kindly. She smiled thankfully and carefully swirled her cup, making sure the tea was steeping. "I figured I'd come in to prepare you." Her eyes moved from the delicate swirls the steam was making to his face, where his blue-gray eyes watched her almost worriedly.

"Prepare me for what?" she replied warily.

"Mr. Rockwell is coming up to see you."

Hermione let out and aggravated sigh. "Why? Why on earth does he keep pestering me?" She saw Jonathan's eyes flick down, as if he was uncomfortable with the topic. "Scrap that. We both know why," she muttered, as Jonathan mutely nodded his head. "So what's the excuse this time?"

He referred to the planner he kept with him at all times. "This time it's about the coverage of the scandal with the Wimbourne Wasps."

"Lovely," replied Hermione sarcastically. "Well, send him in when he gets here."

 

 

"So you see," Thomas Rockwell said smoothly from the chair on the other side of her desk, "We need to try and keep the press coverage down."

"Mister Rockwell, it is my reporters' duties to find the truth, regardless of the coach's or your want to keep this matter under wraps," she said in her most official tone.

"But this is a highly sensitive matter, one that should remain as out of the public eye as possible, due to any problems it might create for the teams and for the players themselves."

"This is utterly ridiculous. Why are you, the Head of Magical Games and Sports talking to me about this? This is an issue for the players involved, or at least their coaches and press advisors."

"Well, this is a touchy subject as it involves two of England's top-ranking teams, who are strong rivals, and-"

"And is therefore the jurisdiction of the teams themselves-"

"Jurisdiction is not yours to decide, Miss Granger," said Thomas, cutting her off, his tone just edging into anger. He grit his teeth and his jaw, across which a slight shadow of stubble was visible, became even more angular and defined.

"And what I publish is not yours to decide," said Hermione acidly. "Maybe Jack Alfray should have kept it in his trousers and not cheated on his wife with the beater for the Appleby Arrows. Then we wouldn't have this problem."

"Do you have a problem with me, Miss Granger?" Thomas shot back.

Hermione smiled wryly. "I have a problem with you trying to tell me how to do my job."

"Then why won't you go to lunch with me?" he asked quickly, his dark eyes focused on hers as he leaned forward slightly in his chair, towards her.

Her eyebrows shot up, taken aback for only a moment before she resumed an emotionless expression. "Because I don't fancy arguing constantly and ruining a perfectly good meal. We've had this discussion before, Mister Rockwell."

"No, we haven't. You've given me crap excuses every time I bring it up." A hint of a smirk played around his lips as he waited for a response.

"I don't date people I work with," she replied evenly. "Plus, I'm seeing someone."

He snorted. "Seeing someone."

"Is that supposed to be amusing?" she snapped.

"It's nothing serious. You've only been on a date or two. You're not invested yet. He's just a scapegoat." He was definitely smirking now. Hermione was taken aback and her lips parted in shock, not sure what to say to this unexpected yet completely true statement. He smiled, his perfect white teeth gleaming as the sunlight pouring through her windows rested on his face. "You'll come around." He stood and sauntered slightly as he walked to the door. He opened it and turned to face her, his dark eyes gleaming as they surveyed her. "And next time I expect a better excuse, Hermione, being a writer and all."

He smirked and winked before walking out, the door closing with a snap behind him.


	13. Chapter 13

DAY FORTY-EIGHT

George wasn't sure how he felt about Hermione and her new boyfriend. Because that's what he was now. They had been dating for a fortnight and George was more than a little taken aback. Was this how Hermione had felt at the beginning of them living together? That uncomfortable feeling that you're always in the way, always nervous that you might interrupt something or make a comment that could be taken the wrong way?

Not that Hermione ever brought him over. She was usually out with him, whether it be at a bar, restaurant, or his place, so there wasn't any real worry that he would walk in on anything indecent, but he had just barely missed a few moments that would have been decidedly awkward. Once he had been just about to leave the apartment to meet Lee down at the café a couple doors down for a quick bite while they discussed new plans regarding a new business venture only to hear Hermione's familiar laugh on the other side of the door. He had ignored this and had been about to open the door, his hand already on the door handle, when he had heard the sound of someone's back gently colliding with the door followed by what was unmistakably kissing. Another time, he had been at a restaurant with a new girl he had been seeing casually when he had looked over a couple tables to see Hermione and Malcolm eating dinner. He had tried to ignore this and stay focused on Hannah, but this proved difficult as his eyes strayed over every few minutes, watching as Hermione animatedly told a story, her hands emphasizing her points as Malcolm listened, his eyes never leaving her face.

"This is really throwing you off, isn't it?"

"Huh?" George's attention snapped back to the present and his eyes once again focused on Lee's face.

"This whole Hermione-dating-now thing. It's throwing you off."

"It's just so weird!" he exclaimed, knowing Lee would understand exactly how he felt. "It made a hell of a lot more sense when she was berating me for my behavior and being judgmental. But her dating? It's weird. It's like-, I can't picture her dating anyone. She was always so uptight that I can't imagine her ever shagging someone. Ever."

Lee laughed. "She's relaxed a bit since school but I know what you mean. She's always so stressed. I dunno, maybe this will be good for her."

"It's odd. It's like living with another version of her." Lee gave him a questioning look, so he continued. "She's oddly happy, which is not a bad thing. I like having a happy Hermione around – it makes my life a whole lot easier – but she's so much more girly. I can't explain it, but she doesn't always seem one hundred percent present, like she's always halfway gone, daydreaming or something."

Lee smiled. "Whatever makes your cohabitation more peaceful is for the best, in my opinion. Take me and Angelina, for example. She has some weird habits. Everything has to be in color order. She has to do certain things on certain days. But I let it go and do what I can to stick with what she's used to because then she doesn't want to rip my head off and everything goes by smoothly."

George smiled to himself as he looked back at the glass in his hands. "You're right, mate. It's just taking some getting used to."

 

 

DAY FIFTY-FOUR

George, for once, was not here to pick up a girl. He hadn't been doing that in a while, actually. He had seen a couple girls on and off, but after being embarrassed by Hermione calling him on his antics, his love life (or, more aptly, his sex life) had, more or less, come to a grinding halt. He was here just because it had been a difficult day and he wanted a drink. Another unusual thing for him considering he usually stayed sober while out at night. Ron and Percy had gotten into another stupid spat today and he had been called in to try and fix it. He suspected his mother used the fact that he was Fred's twin in order to guilt Percy when he slipped back into his old ways that had separated him from the family for years. In the back of his mind, he knew that using the fact that Percy felt partly responsible for Fred's death was not the kindest way to keep him in check when he became less than tolerable, but, blood relative or not, they all wanted to beat Percy's face in quite regularly.

He was just starting to sip his glass of Firewhiskey when he heard a high pitched "George!" from behind him. He turned his head and his stomach seemed to turn to lead. It was Zandra, a girl he had gone out with once or twice almost six months ago who would not leave him alone. She was one small step away from becoming a legitimate stalker. He had been doing everything to avoid her, including placing a memory charm on her that came into effect any time she tried to figure out where his house was. It was very much like the ones felt by muggles if they tried to get to close to Hogwarts or the Quidditch World Cup. He had originally felt bad for having taken such extreme measures, but that feeling evaporated after she started sending him daily letters and food packages that he _knew_ were laced with the love potions he sold downstairs at the store. Even if she couldn't find him, she knew her owls could.

As if he was in slow motion and his body could not react properly, he felt her loop her arms around his right arm possessively. "George! It's so great to see you!"

"Hi Zandra," he said weakly. Great. Cos' his day needed to get worse. His mind immediately set to finding an excuse. "I'd love to chat, but I'm actually waiting for someone. But it was nice seeing you." That was a proper send-off, right? That clearly said, in the politest terms possible, _Please leave now. Bye bye._

"Oh, well I'll keep you company until he gets here," she said cheerily.

George felt like slamming his forehead on the bar's polished cherry-wood surface. Honestly? Was this what he needed right now? What, in the name of Merlin, was he supposed to do now? Suddenly, it came to him. He surreptitiously pointed his wand under the bar so no one could see it and nonverbally summoned a patronus, which nudged his hand before soaring away to send his message.

 

Hermione was just giving herself a once-over in the mirror before heading out to see Malcolm. She knew she was a little early, but that couldn't hurt anyone. She was just fidgeting with her hair when something silver shot in through the closed window behind her. She turned quickly and was met with George's voice.

_Hermione. I need your help. Zandra's back and I can't shake her. I'm at the usual pub. Please, Hermione._

The patronus gazed at her imploringly for a moment before disappearing into thin air. Zandra. Hermione remembered her, all right. She was horrible. And that was coming from someone who had had to shake off a ridiculous amount of George's one night stands. She was completely deranged. Hermione hadn't been here for when he had originally dated her, but she had been here for the spiked packages, the late night owls, the invitation to George's and Zandra's engagement party, and the angry notes saying that George needed to come to her, as she was having his baby. After listening to George rant about how psychotic the woman was, especially because he had not slept with her or even brought her home, Hermione knew what trouble this girl was.

Hermione glanced at her watch. Thank goodness she was ready early. She grabbed her bright red blazer and her small beaded bag and walked over to the floo.

 

'Where was she?' George thought desperately. The thought that maybe she had forsaken him and left him to deal with Zandra on his own started wriggling to the forefront of his mind, but he brushed that idea away impatiently. Hermione wouldn't do that. He knew how completely mad this woman was. He was just taking another sip of his Firewhiskey and trying desperately to tune out Zandra's inane rambling when he heard the click of heels behind him and felt a hand on his shoulder.

"George."

He turned and beamed as he saw his savior. There, in front of him, stood Hermione, wearing some bright red shoes, the heels of which were not ridiculously high like those of most women he knew, but shorter, more modest. His eyes traveled up from those red heels to a black dress. _The_ black dress, the one he had pulled out of her closet almost a month ago. And damn, if he had thought it looked good on the hanger, it was nothing to how it looked on her. It hugged every curve perfectly, suited her without looking as though she was forced into it. It wasn't tight, but flattered her shape well, and was topped with her favorite bright red blazer, which turned the outfit from surprisingly sexy to so perfectly Hermione, unexpected and slightly tongue-in-cheek.

"Hi, honey," he said, flashing her a lazy grin.

"Sorry I kept you," she replied easily, playing along. "You ready to go? We have reservations in ten minutes."

"I'm quite ready." He stood, slipped his arm out of Zandra's clutches, and wrapped it around Hermione's waist, smiling as he saw Zandra's smile slide right off her face. "It was nice catching up, Zandra," he said politely, receiving a dumbfounded nod in reply.

They walked out quickly, keeping up their act until they were a street away and out of viewing range of the bar. He stopped and turned Hermione, hugging her tightly. She laughed and hugged him back.

"Thank you, Hermione. Thank you so much," he said quickly, the words tripping over each other on their way out of his mouth.

"Don't worry about it," she replied as they broke apart and she immediately ran her fingers through his hair, fixing where it had fallen oddly after their hug.

"I owe you. Honestly, I do." She smiled and made a gesture as if waving away this comment. "But, Hermione," he said, his tone swiftly shifting to teasing, "I thought that was an emergency dress."

Hermione ducked her head, not meeting his eyes. "Well, Malcolm and I are going somewhere special tonight. It's not too much, is it?" she added worriedly, her head snapping up to check his reaction.

He smiled warmly. "You look beautiful, Mione." She smiled shyly, a pink blush staining her cheeks. "Who knew you had a body under all those billowing robes, eh?" She laughed and rolled her eyes.

"Well, I better go," she said as she checked her watch.

"Thanks again, Mione," he said, pulling her forwards into another hug. He felt her smile against his chest.

"You're welcome, George," she said softly. They broke apart and he ruffled her hair, earning him a squawk of indignation and a slap on the hand. He laughed and pulled back his hand. "And George?" He looked over, noticing a worried expression on her face. "It'll all work out with Percy." She smiled at him once more before turning on the spot and disappearing with a quiet pop. He stood for a moment, smiling at the place where she had just been. _How did she always know?_


	14. Chapter 14

George had been feeling under the weather lately. He was currently taking a nap on the couch, but awoke with a start when the flat door opened and slammed shut. He heard footsteps rush past him and another door slam a moment later. Even half-asleep and most certainly groggy, he knew what this meant – Malcolm. He had been dealing with this for three months now, and was quite used to these (usually) nonverbal outbursts by now. It had started a month into Hermione and Malcolm's relationship.

_George was busy scrubbing his arm, his head ducked in concentration, as he fought to get rid of this unsightly goop that was stuck to his forearm. It was grayish, sticky, and smelled slightly of petrol and old soup, totaling up to a combination that seriously displeased him. He was too busy scrubbing his arm raw to hear the door open, but jumped as it slammed shut, smacking the back of his head hard on the counter above him._

"Bollocks!" he cried, his soapy hand shooting to the spot where an egg was already starting to form. "Hermione, I-" He whirled around, ready to yell at her, when he saw she was not even in the room, but her crying could be heard through the crack left when her bedroom door had refused to shut. He was most certainly thrown. He didn't think he'd ever seen Hermione cry outside of funerals or at the end of the war. Should he go and comfort her? Should he give her some space? He was unsure of how to handle this; he had never had much practice. Growing up, Ginny rarely cried, and when she did, he and Fred would just tell a few jokes and she'd be back to normal. How was he supposed to deal with a crying – no, make that a sobbing – Hermione?

"Oww!"

He looked down in surprise to see that he had, in the midst of his thought process, scrubbed off the sticky substance and had now rubbed his bare arm scarlet. Scowling slightly, he grabbed one of Hermione's cheery yellow hand towels that was hanging off the arm of the ice box and quickly dried his arms before throwing it onto the table and walking quietly over to his flat mate's room. He peeked in through the barely-opened door and saw a sad sight indeed. Hermione was lying on the bed, her whole body seemingly wrapped around the pillow she was hugging tight to her chest, her face buried in the soft cotton, muffling her sobs. He knocked softly on the door.

"Hermione?"

He heard the crying halt for a moment, as if she was holding her breath.

"Hermione, I know something's wrong. Can I come in?"

He heard a few loud hiccups, a sign that Hermione was trying her hardest to hold back her crying.

"I'm fine," she said, although her nose was plugged, so the words came out "I'b fide."

"Hermione, I'm coming in."

He pushed open the door and walked over to the bed to face Hermione, who was now sitting up, although she still clutched the pillow close to her chest, as if it was her anchor to sanity. He sat down on the edge of the bed and looked at her.

"Hermione, what happened?" She sniffed loudly and her bottom lip began to wobble. "Was it someone at work?" She pressed her lips together, trying to hold back her tears. "Was it Malcolm?" Her eyes immediately began to well with tears and her cheeks suddenly flushed as her resolve seemed to give way. This was definitely it. "What happened, 'Mione? What did he do to you?"

He moved to put his hand on her shoulder and she practically fell into his arms, her face pressed against his chest, shaking as she cried. A little taken aback, George missed the first couple words she said, and by the time he had realized she had been trying to talk, she was crying so hard that all of her words her unintelligible. More than a little confused but knowing that the one thing Hermione needed now was a friend to just listen and be there, he held her to his chest, slowly rubbing circles on her back and stroking her hair, mumbling words and phrases that were meant to soothe, although he wasn't sure which of them he was trying to soothe or even why. They sat there for a good ten minutes until she seemed to have cried herself out, and was simply left snuffling and occasionally letting out a hiccup or a dry, shuddering sob.

"Hermione," he said softly as his fingers ran through her curly hair, "What happened? You can tell me."

She didn't move from where she sat, practically on his lap and pressed up against his chest, her arms tight around his waist, but she spoke up, her voice raspy and low from crying.

"We had a fight."

George was tempted to bring out his sarcasm and say, "Yeah, I sort of figured that out," but he knew this was not the proper time and it would probably just upset her more. He instead chose to stay silent and let her continue when she felt she could.

"I don't even remember how it started anymore. It was over something so stupid. But we both said awful things and it was just terrible and I just…it…it just hurt." She started to cry quietly again, her hands holding bunches of his damp shirt, and he continued to rub her back.

"I'm so sorry, Hermione," he said softly. "It'll all be okay. Don't worry; it'll all be okay."

He sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, and stretched his arms above his head before he stood up wearily. Here we go again. As he walked the relatively short distance to her room, he totaled up how many times he'd find her in a state of hysteria, whether it be angry or sad, due to Malcolm. This would be number seven.

"Hermione, I'm coming in," he said loudly through the solid ash door. He no longer bothered asking if everything was okay. They had passed that mark after the third fight, during which she had slammed the door so hard it had actually splintered. Asking if he could come in had also passed the day she had been so angry she had blown a hole though the wall. A fireball seemed like enough reason to come into his flat mate's room unannounced. He opened the door and immediately ducked to dodge an air-born alarm clock that was soaring right at his head. Right before it got to him, it suddenly froze in midair, then soared back into her hand before promptly being thrown again.

"I have never seen such a tidy way to throw possessions around."

She whirled around and her eyes locked onto him without seeming to really see him. "Who does he think he is? He can't tell me what to do!"

"No he can't!" George had no context, but he generally assumed this was a safe response.

"That wanker doesn't get to tell me who to be friends with! Who does he think he is, my mother? Not that my mother did that, but that's hardly the point."

"Who are you not allowed to be friends with?"

"You!"

George blinked. There was a beat of silence. "I'm sorry…what?"

"He said I shouldn't be friends with you and I shouldn't live with you."

"Why?"

"Because it's not normal living with a guy that you're not in a relationship with and we're too different and it's not healthy and all this other bunk. I mean, how ridiculous can he be?"

"Wait…and why can't we be friends?"

"Because he doesn't like you," she replied simply as she paced. She was going to wear a hole into the floor from all the pacing she had been doing in the last several months.

George snorted. "He doesn't like me? He's met me twice. I don't think I've said more than five sentences to him and he's only ever said like two to me. How does he have a bad-"

"He says you're immature and untrustworthy and you're using me and-"

"Using you for what?"

"Hell if I know!" she shouted. "I have no idea where this is coming from, but this constant jealousy is so bloody irritating!"

"Yeah, I mean-," he paused, her words finally registering. "Jealousy?"

"That's clearly what it is! It's ridiculous! I am allowed to have my own friends and my own place to live, even if I do live with a man instead of a woman. It's just so frustrating! He doesn't want to meet any of my friends and when he does by chance, he immediately decides he doesn't like them for the strangest reasons. It's complete bollocks!"

"Yeah, it really is." He paused as he watched her throw a porcelain figurine at the wall. He cringed slightly at the splintering sounds of it shattering before she immediately repaired and summoned it. "Hermione, why do you even stay with him?"

She paused in the middle of throwing the figure again. She pulled her arm back from its extended position and stared at the little cat in her hands. It was black with little white paws, reminiscent of Balthazar, who was currently taking a nap in George's room. Apparently tearing up George's favorite underpants was tiring work. She ran her finger along the statue's back, stroking the sculpted fur and watching the painted yellow eyes as if they would tell her what to say.

"I care about him," she said, he voice quieter than usual.

George had heard this reasoning before. _I care about him. He cares about me. It was no big deal. Just a bump in the road._ He didn't have to be thoroughly acquainted with Malcolm to know that he wanted to wring the man's throat for making Hermione act like this. It was frustrating seeing Hermione, one of the strongest women he knew (next to his mom and Prof. McGonagall), going back every time after she and Malcolm had a fight. It was not like he physically hurt her or did something horrendous, but he broke her heart over and over, without regard to the fact that it broke easier each time after because of all the previous damage he had inflicted. He might be a clever man, a handsome man, whatever Hermione said, but he was not a man in George's eyes. He was a boy – a boy who played games, broke his toys, and expected them to get fixed in time for his next play date. George was going through his now traditional inner monologue, ranting about how terrible Malcolm was for her and cataloguing every way he would hurt the man next time he came face-to-face with him, when he caught Hermione's last words, which he had almost missed, being so wrapped up in anger at how his Hermione was being treated.

"I like feeling wanted; feeling loved. Even if we do fight."

Hermione turned back to her dresser and set the statuette lightly on top, staring at it for a few moments longer while George watched her, silently pleading her to realize that he cared for her and that she didn't need Malcolm. She had George.


	15. Chapter 15

George tramped up the stairs, each heavy footfall carrying the weight of how terrible his day had been. Everything had managed to go wrong, from his business meetings about expanding the company to working in the shop to simply running some simple errands. He had still been fuming from an argument with Lee when he had gone to the market to pick up some things for Hermione. He hadn't been able to find everything he needed, some idiot clerk had dropped a box of chicken stock cans onto him, and the checker had screwed up the pricing four times, until George, aggravated and trying to ignore a very sore shoulder, finally threw money onto the counter and walked out. He had probably given him at least a galleon more than he should have been charged, but he couldn't stand to be in there for another minute. He finally got to the top and shifted his hold on the bags so he could open the door. He could hear shouting as soon as he opened the door.

"Oh for the love of-" he muttered, stepping in and slamming the door closed with his foot.

"THIS IS NOT MY FAULT! I NEVER WANTED THIS IN THE FIRST PLACE!"

"WELL, THEN MAYBE YOU SHOULD HAVE LET ME KNOW INSTEAD OF POUTING IN THE CORNER LIKE A FIVE YEAR OLD!"

"SAYS THE MAN WHO PRACTICALLY THREW A TEMPER TANTRUM BECAUSE I SHOWED UP FIFTEEN MINUTES LATE! I WAS IN A MEETING, BUT LET'S IGNORE THE FACT THAT I'M RUNNING A BLOODY COMPANY ON MY OWN!"

"OH PISS OFF. IT'S NOT LIKE ANYONE READS THAT GARBAGE ANYWAYS."

"EXCUSE ME? YOU WORK FOR THE BLOODY QUIBBLER. DON'T YOU GO GETTING ALL HIGH AND MIGHTY-"

"SHUT UP!"

There was a crash of what sounded like something heavy having been thrown against a wall. George shook his head. This bullshit is not something he wanted to deal with after a crap day like today. And he had to deal with it. Because, no matter how angry Hermione was, she would inevitably fall into bitter tears and he would have to console her when all he wanted to do was shake her violently for constantly subjecting herself to this emotional torture. He balled his fists, trying to resist the urge to go in and settle this himself, when he heard Hermione's furious shout again.

"NO! YOU DON'T GET TO TELL ME WHAT TO DO! LEAVE. NOW, MALCOLM."

He walked forward, towards her room, when Malcolm came storming out. He stopped short, almost crashing into George's chest. He looked up angrily and readjusted his glasses, which were slipping off his face.

"What?" he asked rudely.

"What are you doing in my house?" George asked in a voice of dangerous calm. He was resisting every urge to make a Malcolm-shaped hole in his front door and instead chose to crack his knuckles threateningly.

"Move," commanded Malcolm, clearly ignoring George's question. George stayed put, glaring at him. Malcolm tried to sidestep him, but George moved just as quickly, blocking him. "What is your problem?"

"You are," George replied acidly. Malcolm moved to talk, but George talked over him, his voice as smooth and cold as mercury. "There are a few things you need to learn, and you need to learn them quickly. For one, you set foot in this building ever again, and we'll have quite a big problem. But secondly and most importantly, you hurt Hermione again, and I will make sure you die the most slow, painful death possible."

Malcolm sneered at him and tried to step around him. "Get the fuck out of my w-"

George picked up the shorter man by the collar and slammed him hard against the sitting room wall. He heard a few cracks. Good. He hoped he had broken at least two of the git's ribs. "I don't think you understand," he said, his voice still eerily calm as he raised the man higher against the wall, watching as Malcolm slowly turned redder and redder, probably from lack of oxygen. "You leave Hermione alone, Malcolm. You are not going to hurt her again. You are not going to see her again. You are not going to talk to her again. Do I make myself clear?"

Malcolm's face was contorted into something so full of hate and anger, something so ugly that it was immediately clear that this was the person he had just heard screaming at Hermione, not the unassuming writer he had met at the pub so many months ago. He said nothing, but continued to glare at George. George lowered him from the wall, but as Malcolm moved to take a step away, as if to leave, George grabbed his collar tighter and slammed him against the wall, harder than before. He heard several more cracks and let go of Malcolm's collar. The man doubled over, clutching his sides.

"Do I make myself clear?" George whispered, his eyes flashing dangerously.

Malcolm looked up, his face contorted with pain and rage, and glared at George fiercely. "Yes."

"Good. Now leave. I should never see you back here again." George watched as Malcolm slowly got up and, limping slightly despite his obvious efforts to still look imposing and defiant, walked over to the fireplace. He turned and glared once more at George before he threw the powder and stepped into the emerald flames. George turned and saw Hermione standing in the doorway, watching him, her arms crossed resolutely across her chest. "Hey," he said quietly.

"You shouldn't have done that," she said angrily.

"What?" He was suddenly very confused.

"I can take care of myself, you know. You didn't have to go and attack him."

"What?" he cried, disbelieving.

"You had no right to do that!"

"Do what, exactly? Try to protect you from scum like him?" he said angrily, pointing at the fireplace.

"Why do you always feel like you have to try and clean up my messes? I've handled myself fine before without you interfering."

George laughed humorlessly, his tone dripping with biting sarcasm. "Yeah, I can see that by your fantastic past, what? Five months? You want to make it my fault that you stay in such a dysfunctional relationship? Sure. Why not? Because that's logical."

"What do you mean by that?"

"After every bloody fight with that prick, I've been there. I've held you when you cried. I've listened to your complaints. And I've watched you go back to him every time. I've been party to this sick, vicious cycle you've been in and you've never listened to me. Each time, I told you to break it off, but you kept on, saying you cared for him and all this other bollocks. HE DOESN'T LOVE YOU! Tonight should have made that clear!"

"Like you're one to talk!" she spat. "You've never been in love!"

"Maybe not, but I know that whatever _that_ ," he gestured in the direction of Hermione's room, "was, it was most certainly not love."

"Maybe you should learn to think with your head rather than your fists one of these days."

"Oh yeah, and end up like you? Yeah, that sounds like a great plan!" he scoffed.

"Piss off, George," she said, her tone sharp and biting, before turning and going to her room. Her bedroom door slammed shut.

George glared at the door. "Ungrateful little brat," he mumbled under his breath. He crossed the room and sat down on the couch. It was no use; he was too high-strung right now. He growled under his breath and headed back to the front door. He pulled his jacket from the hook by the door and walked out, the front door slamming closed behind him.

 

 

When he decided to go back to the house, it was past midnight. He had been walking around for over four hours. He had just walked and walked, not caring where his feet took him, but just letting them roam while he thought about everything. Before he knew it, he was far away from the Leaky Cauldron, somewhere in a dingy part of muggle London. He saw some shady figures heading down the street towards him and felt his adrenaline start to pump again. 'No,' he told himself, 'you are not going to pick a fight just because you're in a bad mood. Not after everything tonight.' He sighed heavily and turned down an alley and, with a spin and a _crack!_ , he was back in his shop, right in front of the cash register. He walked up the back stairs and let himself into the house. He hung up his coat and looked around.

There was no sign of Hermione. There was no sound of tears, anger, or even the rustling of a page being turned. He looked around the room sadly. He hated fighting with her, but a part of him wished she had been watching the door with her arms and legs crossed and her back as taut and straight as piano wires, her foot jiggling impatiently. At least that would mean that she was still here, but it sounded like she had left. He wondered where she had gone, but, realizing how exhausted he was, he decided to go to bed and worry about it in the morning. He walked towards his bedroom, pausing as he looked at the sitting room wall. There was a sizeable dent and a good amount of paint had chipped off and now littered the floor below. He took a steadying breath, trying to ignore the rush of anger that flooded his mind as memories of a few hours ago came rushing back. He squeezed his eyes shut and walked away, towards his bedroom. He walked in and flicked on the lights. He heard a slight noise, a human noise, and jumped, his wand out, his body tensed for an attack. When he turned to face the source of the noise, however, he realized it was not an ambush.

It was Hermione.

She was sitting up on his bed, her back against his pillows, her head resting against the wall, fast asleep. What was she doing in his room? Had she been waiting up for him? He walked over and sat down on the bed next to her. He reached out his hand and set it gently on her shoulder.

"Hermione," he said quietly. "Wake up, Hermione."

She shifted and her eyes slowly opened. She looked over at him and jumped, her eyes wide with terror. "George!"

"It's okay, Hermione. Shh! It's okay. It's just me."

She looked at him and burst into tears, throwing her arms around his neck and burying her face in the crook of his neck. "I'm so sorry. I was terrible. I'm so sorry."

"I'm sorry too, 'Mione," he said quietly as he hugged her.

She pulled away slightly to see his face. Her expression looked agonized. "We broke up," she said quietly.

He paused, trying to master his emotions and not let them show, although all he wanted to do was jump up and whoop, his fist punching the air in celebration. He didn't want to rile her up again. "Really?" he said quietly.

She ducked her head, looking almost shamed. "You were-," she faltered, as if she was having trouble saying the words, "you were right. I shouldn't have let myself go back every time. I was just hurting myself more. And I finished it." She looked up and her eyes were full of tears. "I should be happy it's over, shouldn't I?"

He smiled sadly, understanding where she was coming from. "Maybe," he said softly.

"Then why does it hurt so much?" she asked, her voice so heartbroken and childlike, George felt it pierce him like a knife.

George moved forward, hugging her to her chest. "Because it hurts when someone you care about wounds you like that. But I can promise you it will all be okay. It will hurt now, but soon the hurt will lessen. And one day, you'll wake up, and the hurt will be gone. And you'll realize that you've learned from your mistakes, but those mistakes don't define you. They just make you stronger."

She hugged him tighter and he held her close, the two of them staying silent for a few moments, just listening to the other's breathing.

"I'm sorry, George," Hermione whispered.

"I know you are," George whispered back. "I'm sorry too, Hermione."


	16. Chapter 16

"Hermione?"

She heard the voice vaguely, as if from far away or echoing in a tunnel, but ignored it. Maybe if she stayed still it would go away.

"Hermione?" came the sing-song call again, this time closer.

 _Stay still,_ she told herself, _you're just imagining it._

"Hermione?" The voice was now right next to her, and a hand was resting on her shoulder. She made a groaning noise and turned over, flipping the pillow over the back of her head and burying her face into the mattress. She heard a familiar deep laughter and felt a warm hand on the middle of her quilt-covered back.

"Come on, Hermione. It's time to get ready."

"NO," she said loudly into the mattress, although it came out significantly muffled. She felt his other hand rest on her shoulder while the first hand slid up her back. They rested at her shoulders and began to turn her over. She fought against it, trying to make her body as heavy and uncooperative as possible, but he was much stronger than her. He turned her over, and through her messy hair that had fallen in her face, she could see two dark blue eyes twinkling down at her above a smile that tugged up the right side of his mouth.

"Get up, you lazy sod," George teased.

She grabbed the pillow and covered her face with it. She heard him laugh in response.

"Just leave me alone. I want to sleep."

"You can't, you baby. You have a company to run." Even with the pillow blocking her ears, she could hear the smile in his voice. "You took a week off to sort yourself out. Now it's Monday and it's time to go back."

She whimpered as the pillow was pulled from her grasp, and she glared up at her flatmate, who was watching her bemusedly.

"I don't want to," she mumbled, not caring that she sounded like a temperamental toddler.

"I know it's hard, Hermione," he said, his voice gentle, the teasing tone replaced with honest empathy. "Five months is a lot of time, and a week is not enough time to cope, but you have to do this. You can't stay holed up in here forever."

"Why not?" she pouted.

George let out a bark of laughter. "Because you're too brilliant to be sitting in bed all the time. You'd go mental with nothing to do."

"That's true," said Hermione reluctantly.

"So come on," he said as he pulled off her quilt, slipping his arm under her knees and spinning her so her legs were hanging off the bed while her torso remained lying down. "It's time to greet the new day with a breath of fire!" She raised her eyebrows and gave him a skeptical look. "Too much optimism?" he joked. She rolled her eyes in response.

"I'm up, I'm up," she mumbled as she straightened up and stretched, yawning widely. She looked over and saw George was still watching her. "You can go. I won't go back to bed now," she said, a teasing smile playing on her lips.

"Okay. I just wanted to make sure..."

She laughed and pushed him out of her room. As she was trying to close the door on him, he caught it and smiled sweetly at her.

"Hey Hermione?"

"Yeah?"

"Good morning."

She smiled. "Good morning, George." She closed her bedroom door with a snap.

 

 

"Hi Miss Granger!"

"Good morning!"

"Hello Ms. Granger!"

"Glad to see you're back, Granger!"

"We missed you!"

"Have a good day, Miss Granger!"

Hermione smiled and waved to people as she weaved her way through the office floors. She nodded to some, stopped for a quick word here and there, and tried to hurry to her office without seeming rude. She finally made it and, after another barrage of hellos from her main staff, she slipped into her office and sunk into the armchair that sat in the corner, perfectly comfortable yet hardly used. Suddenly, the door opened and Jonathan stepped in, his movements quick and efficient as ever as he shut the door behind him and flipped open a planner to the correct day.

"Good morning, Hermione!" he said cheerily. "I-, Hermione?" He had looked up to see an empty chair at the desk. "What? But-"

"Over here, Jonathan," she said. He turned and started slightly when he saw her.

"Still too much, isn't it?" he said softly. That's what she loved about Jonathan – he was always two steps ahead, already knowing the situation and what you were thinking or what you wanted. "I was a wreck after my last breakup too." She looked at him inquiringly. "A year and two months," he replied to her unspoken question.

"Wow. That makes my moping after five months just seem silly."

He smiled at her. "I wouldn't say so. If you cared about the person, they always hurt, no matter who broke up with whom."

"So, what's my day like today?" she asked, a weary smile on her face despite the fact that it was not even nine in the morning yet.

"Not too much to worry about. A floo meeting with the Minister to check over a few things before they're run in tomorrow's paper, a couple new people have applied for the internship, and-." He faltered. "Oh," he said quietly, his voice dropping down an octave.

"What?"

"Apparently Rockwell just slithered his way onto your schedule," he said, his lip curling slightly as he glared down at the planner. "I told Elizabeth to not make any appointments without me there," he muttered angrily. Hermione let out a giggle, and Jonathan's head snapped up.

"I've never seen you upset before, Jonathan," she said, smiling fondly at her assistant. He smiled reluctantly.

"Yeah, I try not to let my emotions get the best of me, but that new girl…she's frustrating. Not as frustrating as Rockwell though. You know, he came barging in here the other day, wanting to see you and have a meeting and creating this ruckus because he thought we were hiding you from him or some nonsense! He's just a-, an-"

"A complete arse?" she offered.

"Yes," replied Jonathan with a smile. "He is that indeed." He looked back at the planner as he walked back towards the office door. "Don't worry yourself – he's not getting in here today. A visit from that git is the last thing you need after last week."

Hermione smiled gratefully at him from her slumped position in her chair, realizing quite a bit late that she was still in her traveling cloak. "Thank you, Jonathan," she said softly.

"Anything for you, Hermione." He flashed her a smile before walking out, the door clicking shut behind him.

 

 

"For the love of Merlin, I have a department to run! I only need to talk to her for a minute!"

"Sir, you have to make an appointment. Miss Granger was out of the office last week, so she is very busy right now. I'd be happy to make you an app-"

"I don't want an appointment. I just need to check with her on something!"

Hermione looked up from the draft she was reading over that was to be in tomorrow's paper and squinted as she tried to figure out whose voice that was speaking to her new intern. From what she could hear, the man was scaring Elizabeth. Hermione sighed. There went another intern that wasn't right for the job. She girl seemed to be terrified of confrontation and had burst into tears the other day when someone had shouted at her for sending them the wrong file. Of course, Hermione had had a few choice words with that person, who was now not welcome at the offices of the Daily Prophet, but she really needed someone who was a people person, but who would not crumble under the pressure of a stressful job such as this. She was watching the door, debating whether she should charm the door to be able to see through, when Jonathan slipped through, closing it behind him silently.

"Who-"

"Rockwell," Jonathan answered immediately. "Should I send him in?"

Hermione sighed. "Why not? I suppose it's better to get it over with."

Jonathan smiled and slipped out of the door once again. As she heard her assistant's voice join the conversation, she tucked away a stray curl that had fallen from her French twist and cleared her throat as she prepared for his entrance. Right as she began to straighten the piled of parchment on her desk, the door open and in walked Thomas Rockwell.

"Miss Granger, how nice to see you again," he said with a charming smile.

She stood and smiled at him, holding out her hand to shake his. "Hello, Mr. Rockwell. What can I help you with today?"

"Well," he said slowly as he sat down in the chair across from her, "my purpose today is twofold."

Hermione forced herself to not show her irritation – no doubt one of those reasons was yet another attempt to flirt with her. It was such a shame that he was so cocky; he really was remarkably good looking, with his short dark hair, his bright brown eyes, and his perfect teeth that seemed to gleam when he smiled, although she wanted to attribute that gleam to venom. Her mouth twitched into a smile at that last thought.

"Well, I wanted to get you up to date on some new changes that have come up for the next month's quidditch games, as the Republic of Czech just had to swap dates with Egypt, and now Portugal is giving us issues."

They talked for about half an hour, clearing up the new lineup for the national teams' games, as the World Cup would be coming up in a few months. The conversation had been amiable, and Hermione was surprised to find herself laughing every once and a while. 'Perhaps he's not such a git after all,' she thought as her quill whizzed across the page as she took down _Kenya versus Ireland cancelled; Kenya versus Japan; Ireland to play Iceland first._ After they had finished and she had looked over her notes a second time, she looked up at him.

"What was the second thing you wanted to talk about?"

He smiled again, that slow smile she had seen the day she had first met him, an almost predatory smile, possessive.

"You know the Minister's Ball is this weekend, right?"

Hermione froze. She had completely forgotten. And she _had_ to go.

"Of course," she said casually, as if she was incredulous he had thought she had forgotten. "Why do you bring it up?"

"Who are you going with?"

Her jaw clenched. Oh no. Did he know about her breakup with Malcolm? Most people didn't – everyone in her office besides Jonathan had thought she had been on a business trip. How could he know? Or was he just fishing for an answer? He seemed to have noticed her hesitation and he spoke up, a small smile playing on his lips.

"What? Things not going well with your boyfriend?"

"Things are just fine, thank you," she said quickly.

"Really? Because I would love to spend the evening with you, Miss Granger."

'I bet you would,' thought Hermione scathingly, watching him run a hand across his ridiculously perfect jaw. Why did all the good looking ones have to be complete cads?

"Well, I'm flattered," she said with a smile, ignoring the fact that this statement was not actually true, "But I already have a date." She stood and held out her hand. "It's been nice talking to you, Mr. Rockwell. Thank you for the updates on the matches."

He hesitated for a moment, a look of surprise on his face, before he recovered and rose, smiling as he grasped her hand in his own.

"Always a pleasure, Miss Granger."

He smiled and turned, leaving her alone in her office. She sat down heavily in her chair and stared at the closed door. Now where in the world was she going to find a date for this stupid ball?


	17. Chapter 17

"It will be fine!"

"No. No, it won't."

"Yes it will! He can't be that bad!"

Hermione raised her head from its resting place on her folded arms and looked skeptically at Harry from across the table.

"You don't know Rockwell."

"What about Rockwell?" asked Ron, walking into the kitchen and sitting down next to Hermione.

"He's after Hermione," said Harry with an amused smile.

"Stop it!" she cried, leaning forward as she tried to swat Harry, who moved back out of her reach and grinned. "It's not funny!"

"What's wrong with Rockwell? He's nice enough. He's been helpful when I've had meetings with him."

"He's nice enough to men, Ron," said Ginny as she turned from helping her mother with the roasted carrots they would be having with dinner, "But he's rather insufferable towards women."

"Thank you!" Hermione cried, giving an I-told-you-so look to Harry, who just shook his head and gestured for Ron to throw him a dinner roll.

"He hits on women all the time. And he's irritatingly persistent. When I showed up at the Ministry to meet Harry for lunch, he would not stop flirting with me until Harry showed up. I think he realized that flirting with Harry Potter's girlfriend was probably a poor move."

"He thinks he's the perfect man or something!" added Hermione.

"Well, he is gorgeous. I mean, that jawline is so perf-" Harry coughed loudly. Ginny stopped and smiled. "Oh quiet, you! You have no reason to be jealous!" They smiled at each other as Ron tore the crusty roll apart with his teeth, showering the table with crumbs, and Hermione groaned.

"Yes, he's good looking. Marvelous for him. But I need help from you lot! What am I supposed to do? He thinks I'm bringing my boyfriend. I can't show up alone!"

"I'm sorry, 'Mione. I'd go with you, but Gin and I are already going," said Harry.

"I'm going with Luna," said Ron. "Sorry."

"Why not George?" said Mrs. Weasley. Everyone quieted and looked over at her. She was leaning against the kitchen counter, her arms crossed across her apron-clad chest, watching them thoughfully. "He'd probably help you. He has to go anyways, and this way we'd be sure he's actually going to show up, which would be nice."

"I-" Hermione faltered. "Wow. I feel like a right idiot. I never even thought of asking George."

"How odd; you do everything else together," replied Harry with a smirk.

"You didn't think of George either. Don't act like you did," teased Ginny.

"Well, you can ask him now. He just got here," said Ron with a grin as he stole Hermione's drink and took a swig of it. Right then, George walked in through the kitchen door.

"Hello everyone. How-" He faltered, seeing every face in the room turned towards him, expectant. "Why is everyone watching me again? I'm not getting another roommate, am I?"

 

 

"So, let me make sure I understand. You want me to come with you to the Minister's Ball, which my mum so graciously reminded me I am obligated to go to, as your date and pretend to be your boyfriend because you told Rockwell you're going with your boyfriend," George said carefully, watching Hermione.

"Because otherwise he'll try to be with me the entire night and I just want him to leave me alone," replied Hermione.

"Because he's a wanker who can't take no for an answer," supplied Ginny, who was shushed by an amused Mrs. Weasley. There was a beat of silence as George thought it over.

"Will it be necessary for me to scare him away?" George said, a small smile playing on his lips.

"Possibly," said Hermione.

"I'm in."

 

 

"I'm so sorry about this again."

"Why do you keep apologizing?"

"Because I feel bad asking you to do this?"

"Why would you feel bad?"

"I…I don't know…I just do!"

"I owe you, so it's paying off a debt, if you will."

"What debt?"

"You saved me from that nutter Zandra a couple months back, remember? You pretended to be my girlfriend to get me out of there." There was a pause and George could picture Hermione on the other side of the door, stopping in the midst of her getting ready to remember, her eyebrows contracting and her lips pursing in concentration. "You were wearing that black dress. The one that shows off your bum nicely."

"Oh I re-, wait, why were you looking at my bum?"

"What, you expected me to not look at it while you were wearing that dress?" he asked, the right corner of his mouth tugging up into a smile that was almost a smirk. He heard her sigh in false irritation. "You almost ready in there?"

"Not yet."

"Oh for the love of Merlin, what is taking you so long?" he cried, leaning back against her bedroom door with a loud thump.

"Excuse me for not being able to simply wash my hair and pull of a set of dress robes! I am a woman – we take longer to get ready."

"Apparently," he muttered. He waited a few more minutes before sighing and giving up. He moved to the sitting room and picked up a book at random, which turned out to be Hermione's. "Unfogging the Future," he read aloud, frowning. "Why the hell would she have that?"

"Ron gave it to me as a joke present for my birthday. I need to bring it back to the bookstore and exchange it for something useful," said Hermione as she walked out of her room and towards George.

George looked up and his breath caught in his throat. Hermione was standing in front of him looking absolutely stunning. She was wearing an emerald green evening gown that skimmed the floor when she walked. Its asymmetrical neckline showed off her pale neck and collarbone, while the dress caught in at the waist with a small belt that seemed to be made of slender gold ropes, holding in the gentle ruching of the chiffon that hugged her curves without it being too tight or too showy. Her hair was down, draped over her dress-free shoulder, and fell in soft curls rather than her normal bushy spirals. Her makeup was simple, as was her jewelry, with a teardrop of emerald hanging from each delicate gold chain hanging from each ear. She spun around and then stopped, watching George, worried.

"Do I look decent?"

There was a full beat of silence as George tried to muster the ability to form a coherent sentence, rather unsuccessfully, before he spat out, "You look amazing, Hermione."

"Really?"

"Yes," he said quickly. "Really. I just-, you look-, I-, wow. Just…wow." He cursed his cheeks that were heating up. Why was he having such trouble forming a sentence? This was ridiculous. This was Hermione Granger for Merlin's sake! He had seen Hermione at her worst; he had seen the crimson face, the puffy eyes swollen from crying, the runny nose than no amount of tissues seemed to remedy, her voice unintelligible and three octaves higher as she sobbed. Why was it now that he was tongue tied? He fidgeted with the collar of his robes.

"Seems warm in here," he muttered under his breath.

"You ready to go?" Hermione asked as she check her small beaded bag for everything she might need, obviously missing George's discomfort.

"Yes. Yes, let's go," he said, ignoring the odd, hearty tone to his voice that he had never heard there before. He walked over to the fire and threw some powder in before giving Hermione, who had followed him over, a little bow. "Ladies first!"

She smiled and shouted "Minister's Ballroom" before stepping into the fire and spinning away. George took a moment to shake himself. He was obviously just having issues today. Maybe he was just nervous that Kingsley might want him to say something. Yes, that must be the reason for the odd behavior. And with that last comforting thought, he stepped into the emerald flames with a shout of "Minister's Ballroom" and spun away.

 

 

He stepped out of the fireplace and into a coatroom, and his arm was immediately grabbed. He was yanked to the side and almost crashed into a worried-looking Hermione.

"You were right behind me; what took you so long?" she whispered quickly.

"I…had to grab something," he replied, trying to not show his hesitation. Why was this suddenly so difficult? He was always so suave and today it just felt like someone had confunded him. "But I'm here now," he added cheerily.

Suddenly, they were joined by Ginny, Harry, Ron, and Luna, the latter of whom grabbed his hand and started pulling him into the ballroom.

"It's good to see you, George," said Luna in her slow, melodic voice. "Do you like the new advertisements for Weasley's Wizard Wheezes we've been running in The Quibbler this past month?"

"Yes, very much, actually." He looked over his shoulder to check that Hermione was still there. She was walking behind them, busy talking to Ron about something. Probably House Elves making the feast tonight, knowing her. "I liked the pop-out element," he said to Luna, who was leading him towards a table where Neville and a girl he didn't recognize sat amidst a plethora of empty chairs. "What made you think to do that?"

"Oh, I love your products and how original they are, so I thought it would be a good way to really capture people's attention when they're reading."

"Well," he replied as he pulled out a chair for Luna, who smiled gratefully and then sat, "it certainly caught my attention. The confetti may have been a bit much though."

Luna nodded thoughtfully before turning to talk around Ron, who she was sitting next to, to Ginny about something. George turned to his left and saw Hermione fidgeting with the napkin in front of her, constantly folding it and refolding it into different shapes. He snatched the napkin out of her hands, earning a shocked intake of breath, and set it atop his own.

"Calm down, 'Mione," he said quietly. "There's nothing for you to worry about. I'm here."

She smiled at him and laughed nervously.

"I don't know why I'm nervous. I don't even have a speech to give or something."

As Hermione talked on, George scanned the room. He had a vague idea of what this Thomas Rockwell fellow looked like, but he wanted to make sure he spotted him before he had a chance to come over and talk to Hermione. His gaze passed over countless faces, some he recognized, some he vaguely knew, others he had never seen before. Finally, he gaze fell on a man who was watching Hermione intently. George took in the dark hair and eyes, the man's obvious height, and his air of self-importance, which was tangible even across a crowded ballroom. Just as Rockwell seemed to have decided to come over and talk to Hermione, Kingsley Shacklebolt magically amplified his voice and addressed the guests.

 

"Colleagues, friends, distinguished guests, ladies and gentlemen: thank you for being here tonight. Tonight is a special night, where we would like to form bonds and connect with those we thought strangers, as well as thank and honor a number of people who have done so much for us in these past two years."

He paused for a moment to take a breath and smile at the audience.

"First, of course, we have to thank Harry Potter." A spotlight suddenly fell on Harry, who smiled and ducked his head. He never had been good with praise. "Not only for the obvious of finally bringing us to peace, but also for his work in the rebuilding of Hogwarts, the Ministry, and our society itself. We can never thank you enough, Harry."

The applause filled the room and made Hermione's ears ache.

"Look at you, Mister Popular," she whispered to Harry, teasing. He grinned embarrassedly and practically buried his face in Ginny's hair. She picked up her goblet and took a sip of her cold pumpkin juice.

"And we owe much thanks to Hermione Granger," came Kingsley's voice as a spot dropped on her, blinding her. She sputtered, choking slightly on her drink in surprise, and immediately felt her face burn. She heard a whispered "Anapneo" and felt George's hand on her knee under the table, silently asking her if she was alright. She rested her hand atop his and gave it a quick squeeze.

"Miss Granger not only took over the most corrupt system in our country after the war and renewed it, making sure we could again trust the printed word, but also has helped us create strong bonds with our fellow Wizarding states as our International Ambassador. Hermione, your dedication is appreciated every day."

There was a loud round of applause, which was cut by Kingsley adding, "How about a round of applause for all of you here, for all of you who helped us grow and heal after the way, whether it be through rebuilding or simply keeping faith in those who were." More applause rang through the room that somehow seemed to be almost full despite its vast size.

"Isn't he going to thank you for helping bring back the country's Quidditch teams?" Hermione whispered to Ron as soon as the spotlight was removed.

"He better not," hissed Ron with a grin. "It's not as big as what you two have done. Plus, I'm enjoying myself far too much watching all of you turn colors." Everyone at the table laughed.

Kingsley put up his hand for silence and then continued, the spotlight now dropping onto George, who scowled slightly.

"I would also like to take this moment, especially because I know Molly made sure he didn't duck out of the ball this year," Kingsley's booming voice said as he grinned and looked over at their table, "to thank George Weasley, who has not only graciously given his time and money to help rebuild Hogwarts and the Ministry, but has created the Fred Weasley Foundation, which donates money to the orphanages in order to get the boys and girls, whose families were taken from them in the war, into loving foster homes. You truly are a hero, George."

Loud applause bounced off the polished marble floors and high vaulted ceilings as Hermione stared at George, shocked. She had no idea he had ever done anything like that. She knew he donated money to different wizarding charities, always in Fred's name, but she never knew it was to this extent. She clapped hard along with the others, still in a bit of a daze. As the spotlight was pulled off of George and Kingsley continued, now talking about something else, Hermione put her hand on George's bicep.

"George?" she said quietly. He raised his head and she saw he was beet red. "Why didn't you ever tell me you do things, wonderful things, like that?"

"I can't have you thinking I'm a good guy, now can I?" he joked, although she could tell he was embarrassed. "I've still got to be the joker."

"Well, I think that's a marvelous thing you're doing. Fred would be proud." He smiled at her and she leaned forward, giving him a light kiss on the cheek.

"You want to dance?" asked George quickly, obviously wanting to change the topic before his face turned purple. She laughed and extended her hand to him as he stood. He pulled her up and led her out to the dance floor.

 

 

"I'm famished," Hermione said as they spun off the dance floor and came to rest near their table. "I'm going to go eat."

"I'll be right there," George said as he unclasped his hand from hers. "I need to talk to Kingsley. And get a stiff drink."

Hermione laughed. "Be nice," she warned.

He winked at her and then headed over to where Kingsley was standing, towering over the very petite Président of France's République Française de la Magie. After a short conversation, some hand shaking, and a clap on the back, George headed off to the bar that was at one end of the ballroom. As he walked up, the bartender looked at him expectantly.

"One Firewhiskey," he said. He stood, leaning against the bar, slowly sipping his much-needed drink, when the man he had seen earlier showed up, the smile he was wearing almost too bright, too fake.

"George Weasley, right?" he asked. George nodded. "Thomas Rockwell," he said as he held out his hand to shake George's. "Head of Magical Games and Sports."

"Nice to meet you."

"Marvelous occasion, isn't it? It's always great to get everyone together."

It seemed to George that Rockwell was talking about this huge ball, filled with many foreign leaders, as if it was a Hogwarts class reunion. He smiled faintly at Rockwell.

"Kingsley sure knows how to throw a party," he replied lightly, earning a laugh from Rockwell.

"I see you're here with Hermione," Rockwell said carefully, obviously testing the waters.

"I am indeed."

Rockwell frowned slightly, obviously displeased with George's apparent lack of conversation skills, not knowing it was born from dislike rather than poor manners. Just as Rockwell opened his mouth, probably to ask if George was dating Hermione, George spoke up.

"I'd better be getting back. Nice meeting you." He hurried off in search of Hermione.

 

 

"I do not like him," whispered George in Hermione's ear as he walked up to her and gently put his hand on the small of her back. She started slightly but smiled when she recognized the voice.

"He's awful, isn't he? What did you two talk about?"

"Hardly anything, which really displeased him. I basically greeted him, introduced myself, and then left."

She laughed, leaning against George slightly as she did so. George laughed with her, though his eyes once again caught Rockwell's gaze, which was, as always it seemed, on Hermione. He wrapped his arm securely around her waist and continued to distract her, talking to her about the other people at the party and how silly some of them looked, but all the while keeping a lookout for Rockwell.

 

 

The night had gone on relatively smoothly, and eventually George and Hermione separated to talk to whomever they liked. Rockwell didn't seem too much of a threat, at least up to this point, and so George felt comfortable giving Hermione more space for the night, although he always kept an eye out for where she was. He had just come from the toilets and was about to walk out of the small hallway he was in and back into the party where Hermione came rushing over.

"Oh thank Merlin!" she whispered hurriedly.

"What happened? Is something wrong?" Had he been in the loo so long that something could have happened?

"Rockwell came over and started practically interrogating me. He said he didn't believe we were dating and said you were just an excuse so I wouldn't come with him."

"Which is the truth…" George added quietly.

"Yes, but he can't know that!" hissed Hermione. "I think he's coming. Put your hands low on my waist."

"Excuse me?" asked George quickly, thrown off.

"Do it! He was following me before and he could show up any second. Just look happy and hold my waist and we'll be fine."

"I'm perfectly happy to oblige," said George with a roguish wink.

She laughed in spite of her and swatted him lightly. There were footsteps heard near, obviously coming into the hallway they were in. Her eyes widened and darted up to his face, surveying him for a moment.

"I apologize ahead of time for this," she said quickly.

"Apologize for wha-"

His words were cut off as Hermione put her hands on either side of his face and kissed him right on the mouth.


	18. Chapter 18

She laughed in spite of her and swatted him lightly. There were footsteps heard near, obviously coming into the hallway they were in. Her eyes widened and darted up to his face, surveying him for a moment.

"I apologize ahead of time for this," she said quickly.

"Apologize for wha-"

Suddenly, Hermione's hands were on either side of his face and her lips were on his. And not just in a light peck. Hermione was _kissing_ him, real, honest to Merlin, kissing him. Not just kissing; snogging. The sound of loud footsteps approaching knocked him out of that second of stunned disbelief and inaction. He wrapped one arm around her waist as he slid his other hand up her back, her dress smooth and cool against his palm, before it came to rest on the back of her neck, his fingers winding themselves among her curls. As he returned the passionate kiss, neither of them breaking for air, both of Hermione's hands slipped behind his head, her fingers playing with his hair as she stood on her tiptoes, leaning into the kiss. Just as he heard someone enter the room, obviously male by the weight of the footsteps, George pulled her closer to his chest, lifting her slightly off the ground as he put everything he had into the kiss, very surprised that Hermione was doing just the same.

"Hermione?" came Rockwell's voice.

They broke apart suddenly and Hermione looked over her shoulder at a very stunned Thomas Rockwell, her fingers still in George's hair. She smiled composedly, as if she had just been having a simple conversation with George, and spoke up in as normal a tone as possible, although George could feel her chest heaving against his with the effort of trying to bring her breathing back to normal.

"Oh, hello Mr. Rockwell. Having a nice night?"

"Yes," he replied hesitantly, obviously still very shocked. "And yourself?"

"Oh, I'm having a marvelous time," she said with a bright smile before looking lovingly up at George. "Should we rejoin everyone?"

"Certainly, darling. They're probably wondering where we've gone off to," replied George, leaning down and giving Hermione a soft kiss on the lips before unwinding his arms from around her. He looked over at Rockwell and said, in a voice that he hoped did not convey how amused he was at Rockwell's shock and obvious displeasure, "Hope you're having a good night."

Rockwell stuttered for a moment, but before he could say or do anything else, Hermione intertwined her fingers with George's and pulled him down the hallway and back into the ballroom. They walked calmly around the edge of the dance floor and sat down at their table, which was, thankfully, empty. They looked at each other for a moment, both noticing the other's mussed hair, bright eyes, and swollen lips, and then burst into laughter.

"Thank you for going along with that," said Hermione, finally calming down.

"Oh trust me," replied George with a naughty grin, "it was my pleasure." Their eyes met and they burst into laughter again. "But honestly, where did you learn to kiss like that, Hermione? Because damn!"

Hermione blushed furiously.

"Doesn't matter," she said quickly, not meeting his eye. "But honestly, thank you George. For coming with me tonight and putting up with…this whole situation."

"Don't even bother, 'Mione. I'm glad I came. And I probably would have asked you to come with me if you hadn't asked first."

"Really?"

"Really. You're my closest female friend, and plus, I couldn't ask Lee to come with me. That'd be awkward." He winked, making Hermione giggle. "Plus, that look on Rockwell's face was priceless."

"It was!" Hermione cried happily. "It was so hard for me to not laugh!"

"You played it off very well. I think we had him convinced. I doubt he'll come to bother you anymore, and if he does-"

George cracked his knuckles threateningly. Hermione smiled widely and leaned forward, wrapping her arms around George's neck and hugging him tightly.

"My protector," Hermione teased, giving him a quick peck on the cheek. George smiled and hugged her back.

"So, you think we've been here long enough?"

Hermione turned George's arm and looked at his watch.

"We've been here for three hours. I'd say so."

"Brilliant!" George stood up and held out his arm. "I'd like to get a bite to eat, maybe at the Leaky Cauldron. What say you?"

Hermione smiled and looped her arm through his.

"That sounds lovely."

 

 

George was fast asleep. A scream ripped through the apartment, waking him immediately and raising the hairs on the back of his neck. He jumped out of bed and flew down the hallway.

"HERMIONE!"

He wrenched the bedroom door open and ran in. Hermione was tangled in the sheets, a look of terror and agony screwing up her face, her eyes still closed. He rushed forward, quickly untangling her from the sheets, and collected her in his arms.

"Hermione! Hermione, wake up!"

She fought against his hold, struggling to free herself from whoever she thought he was in her dream.

"Hermione! Wake up! It's George. It's me, Hermione, wake up!"

He held her tightly, desperate for her to wake up from her nightmare. Finally, her eyes flew open and she looked at George, a look of sheer fear on her face.

"Shh! Hermione! It's me; it's George. Don't worry, I've got you."

She looked at him and finally seemed to recognize him. She gave one shuddering breath before bursting into tears. George held her close, stroking her hair and muttering soothing words as she buried her face in his bare chest. She shuddered against him, her sobs heart-wrenching. What could have upset her like this? They sat there for a good fifteen minutes, Hermione's tears running down his chest as his fingers untangled her curls and he held her tightly. Finally, it seemed she had cried herself out. He could feel the hot air against him as she took deep, shuddering breaths, trying to calm herself down.

"You okay?" he asked softly.

She nodded and looked up at him. Her face was red and streaked with tears but somehow she still looked beautiful to him. He rested his forehead against hers and smiled softly.

"Thank you, George," she whispered.

"I'll always be here for you, Hermione," he whispered back.

She moved her head slightly and kissed him lightly on the lips. There was a moment where they just looked at each other silently before Hermione leaned forward and kissed him again, her lips lingering on his this time. Before she could pull away, he leaned forward and kissed her back, his arms tightening around her. He felt her arms slide up and around his neck as he deepened the kiss. Her fingers were once again in his hair and his free hand was entwined in her bushy curls. He leaned forward and she leaned back in response, his hand secure on her back as she lay down without breaking the kiss. He moved forward, his knees on either side of her, straddling her. The hand that had originally been in her hair now rested on her waist, where the oversize shirt she wore to bed had slid up. The kisses became passionate, frantic.

_"George," she moaned._

 

"AAAHHH!"

George awoke with a start and sat up, his breathing quick and his chest heaving. What the hell? Suddenly hot, he pushed the sheets off of him. He looked down at his pants and groaned. No. NO. This was not happening. He was not having dreams about Hermione. He was not getting off on dreams about Hermione. He looked down at his pants again and grimaced. According to what he saw, he was indeed. He flopped back onto his pillow and stared up at the ceiling, his emotions shooting this way and that between shock, embarrassment, disbelief, and reluctant arousal. When the hell did this happen? This had never been an issue before tonight. And then it hit him.

Tonight. The Minister's Ball. Hermione in her dress. That kiss.

That damn kiss. It had been a good one, actually, a pretty amazing one, he had to admit. Especially because it came out of nowhere. And the fact that she had looked gorgeous had probably helped. He hadn't had a kiss like than in longer than he liked to admit, even to himself. And that kiss had been damn good.

But he did _not_ fancy Hermione. Definitely not. She was Hermione, for Merlin's sake! Hermione Granger, the bushy bucktoothed little girl he had spent holidays with since he was thirteen; the bossy know-it-all girl who had become the bossy know-it-all prefect that had constantly tried to get him in trouble at school; the anal-retentive woman with whom he had been forced to room, who had embarrassed him, drove away the women he was seeing, told his mother about his sex life, and screamed at him for the smallest things; the woman who he had seen at her most broken, her most upset, looking as unattractive as possible; the woman he had shouted at, threatened, fought with, teased, befriended, protected, laughed with, kissed.

He groaned again, pulled the pillow out from under his head, and pressed it on his face, as if to smother himself. She was Hermione Granger, and he had absolutely no idea how to feel anymore.


	19. Chapter 19

He was at his desk, sketching out ideas for a new product for the shop, a candy that would work like those muggle "mood rings" Hermione had told him about. They were absolutely rubbish, but the idea behind it was clever. The problem was that he couldn't get the mix right, and the effects were mixing up the colors and emotions. And one certainly didn't want to be bright pink when depressed. Well, no one wanted to be bright pink in general. He frowned and ruffled his hair, thinking. He heard light footsteps but ignored them. It was probably an issue with the porcupine quills. Suddenly, he felt a slight weight on his shoulders and smelled raspberries. Hermione's shampoo. He was about to turn his head when he felt lips graze the back of his neck in a soft kiss. He turned his head slightly, the next kiss landing on his cheek. He smiled at her and then his eyes widened as he realized what she was wearing. Or, more accurately, what she wasn't wearing. There she was, standing next to him, with only her long, bushy hair and a mischievous smile. He blinked a few times; this was just too good to be true.

"Have I somehow rendered the marvelous George Weasley speechless?" she teased.

He grinned and stood, closing the space between them in one stride and taking her in his arms. As they kissed, he felt her tugging at the bottom of his shirt. He broke the kiss with a laugh and pulled his shirt off with one hand before kissing her again.

_"What, do I have to stay the only one with no clothes on?" she murmured against his lips._

George suddenly woke up, his face hot and the sheets tangled around his legs.

"Oh fuckin' hell," he muttered.

 

 

"So, I was thinking about a product that worked like those muggle mood rings. You know, they change color dependant on mood, but we could do it with some kind of feature, like hair or eyes."

"Brilliant," said Lee as he poured himself a cup of tea and added far too much sugar than was healthy. "Where'd you get an idea like that?"

George hesitated as the image of Hermione from his dream flashed before his eyes. "Just came to me, you know," he said casually. He picked up a piece of toast and began buttering it. He gestured to Lee, who nodded and caught two of the pieces of toast George tossed him. He sat down and read upside-down the paper Lee was writing on.

"Mate, I can't read anything if you're getting smears of butter and marmalade all over it."

"Aw naff off," Lee said, his mouth full, before taking a swig of his sugary tea.

Hermione hurried out from her room, still in the midst of tying up her hair into a bun that sat high on her head, giving her a look reminiscent of old English royalty. She hobbled about, leaning against the kitchen counter to put on her other shoe, her hair now in place, as all her papers flew into her briefcase, which flew next to her work robes which were sitting by the fireplace.

"You alright there, Hermione?" Lee asked as he munched on his toast.

"Oh, good morning, Lee," she said cheerily. "I'm just a tad, um, where did I put my-"

"Scattered?" George supplied.

"Exactly. And I have a morning meeting in about two minutes. I just don't know where my head is today."

As she talked to Lee, she walked over to George, who had just finished putting the perfect amount of orange marmalade on his toast, and pulled the bread out of his hands seemingly without noticing what she was doing. George made a noise of dissent, but she didn't seem to hear it. She took a few bites and placed it back in George's still hand, which hadn't moved, more out of surprise than anything. She picked up his mug, took a few sips of his tea, and replaced it on the table as well.

"Well, I have to run. I'll see you lot later. You're coming over for dinner, right, Lee?" she asked, her hand resting on the back of George's neck for a moment in a goodbye gesture, her fingers grazing the fine hairs, before she headed to the fireplace. George flinched slightly at her touch, remembering the kisses on the back of his neck that had felt so real.

"Yeah, I'll be here," said Lee with an odd smile. He watched her rush to the floo and spin away before turning on George. "You cringed."

"What?" George asked, only half-listening as he frowned at his half-eaten piece of toast.

Lee watched him unblinkingly, a small grin on his face. "You cringed."

"When?"

"When she did that. When she had her hand on the back of your neck."

"I did not," George said, busying himself with a new piece of toast and determinedly not meeting Lee's eyes.

"Yes you did! You flinched, balked, recoiled, re-"

"Okay, I get it. You know a lot of words."

"Why?"

"It was unintentional. Just an accident."

A slow smile spread across Lee's face. "There's something you're not telling me, mate. And I will find out. How about I ask Hermione." He started to stand, as if to go after Hermione, but was cut off by George's mutter of "It won't help." He grinned and sat back down. "What doesn't Hermione know, then, mate?"

George glared at his best friend, who beamed back. Finally he sighed and muttered reluctantly, "I've been having dreams…about Hermione."

"Sex dreams?" George nodded. "So?" Lee asked expectantly.

"So what?"

"Is she good?"

"Jordan! Really?" George practically shouted, grimacing.

"What?" asked Lee innocently, a bright smile on his face. "I always figured she would be."

"I ju-, wait, what?" George asked, completely thrown.

"What? You didn't?"

"Why was that even something that crossed your mind? Have you thought this since Hogwarts?"

"Well, yeah," said Lee matter-of-factly. "A lot of us did."

George made a face of mild disgust. "Aw man, really? How could you even-"

"All that pent-up frustration has to go somewhere, mate. And she's a perfectionist, so you know what that-"

"Stop! I get it!" George shook his head like a dog trying to dry off. "I mean, that's Hermione Granger we're talking about!"

"I know," Lee said with a smirk.

"You're with Angelina, man."

"And you're the one having sex dreams about your roommate," Lee said with a smug look, knowing he had shut down George. "So," he said in his most professional manner, steepling his fingers like Dumbledore used to, "how was she?" There was a long pause as George looked down at his now-lukewarm tea. "She was good, wasn't she?"

"She was amazing, okay? Now can you drop it?"

Lee smiled proudly. "Good boy, now you're just as bad as the rest of us. How many dreams have there been?"

"Ten," George muttered.

"And this started when she snogged you at the ball, yeah?"

"Yeah."

"But that was only a week ago."

"I take naps," George mumbled.

Lee laughed loudly. "You fancy little Miss Priss. How does it feel to have fallen for the one girl who could tear you a new one?"

"Whoa," interjected George. "I do _not_ fancy her! And I most certainly have not fallen for anyone! That's what the problem is! I can't avoid her because she's my flatmate. But I can't just sleep with her to see if they'll stop then, well, because she's my flatmate!"

"And she's your best friend, besides yours truly, of course."

"Exactly! I don't _want_ to sleep with her. I honestly don't. These dreams are ridiculous, because they're, she's amazing, but then I wake up and remember that's not her. It's _definitely_ not her."

"She's naughty, isn't she?" asked Lee with an evil grin. "Oh, I bet she's real-"

"Lee! Not the point!"

"No, you're wrong. That's exactly the point."

"What is?"

"You, my friend, need to get laid."

 

 

"This is ridiculous," George muttered in frustration as he buttoned up his shirt and began rolling up the sleeves. "This is mad. He may have a point, but still-"

"Who are you talking to?"

George jumped and turned to see Hermione in the doorway to his bedroom, leaning against the doorframe and watching him curiously.

"No one. Myself."

"Where are you off to?" she asked, but cut him off just as he opened his mouth to answer. "Oh, it's Friday, how silly of me! It's been quite a while since you've been off gallivanting at the pubs, am I right?"

"Yes, it has been. I'm meeting Lee and Oliver there for a pint." He turned to her and spread his arms slightly. "How do I look?"

"So handsome I could just ravish you right here," she said, completely deadpan.

George blinked a few times, frozen, his jaw slightly slackened. He felt like he should pinch himself to make sure he was awake. His dreams had become startlingly lifelike lately. The sound of her laughter shook him from his moment of shock. He immediately closed his mouth, his teeth hitting against each other so hard he could hear it.

"Have I somehow rendered the marvelous George Weasley speechless?" she teased.

Oh sweet Merlin. That line. That was what she had said in his dream two nights before. He surreptitiously pinched himself. It really hurt. He wasn't sure if that was a good or bad thing at this point.

"You just caught me by surprise, 'Mione. I never would have expected such words to come from your pure little mouth," he replied. "But then again, we know it's not so innocent, don't we?"

He winked roguishly at her, making her laugh, but inside he was kicking himself. He was simply being himself and somehow everything was making him think of those dreams. Lee was right; he really did need to get his mind off of them.

"You look very handsome. Don't break too many hearts tonight, George!" She flashed him a grin before heading back to her room.

 

 

He had been sitting with Oliver and Lee for a while when he had spotted her. First he had noticed her hair – short and pin-straight, it fell in a perfect bob and glinted when the light fell on it, subtly shifting from blonde to a strawberry blonde as she turned her head. Then he noticed her laugh. He heard it from across the pub, loud but still pleasant, the kind of laugh that made you want to join in, to be a part of whatever was happening or, better yet, be the person making that wonderful laugh come from her. He had been watching her for a while when she turned her head suddenly and locked eyes with him. Even from across the room, he could tell she had bright green eyes, more leaf green than emerald, that had a kind of twinkle in them. She held eye contact for at least five full seconds, a smile on her face as she watched him unashamedly, before she turned back to whoever she had been talking to before.

"So, has the lion spotted his prey?" joked Lee.

"No," said George carefully. "She's different."

"What do you mean?" asked Oliver as he took a swig from his bottle.

"She's more than that. She's not someone you just spend the night with," George said as he watched her.

"How do you know that?" asked Oliver.

"I don't know. I just do."

He looked down at his drink for a moment before making up his mind. He stood up from the table and drained his drink quickly. "Thanks for the drinks, mates. I'm off."

"You go get it, Georgie Boy!" said Lee.

George grinned at them before heading over to where she stood at the bar with some friends. Just as he was about to approach, she moved away and a little farther down the bar, where there were far less people. She stopped and leaned her back against the bar, those bright green eyes immediately locking onto George's cerulean ones. He was a little surprised but continued over, a handsome smile on his face. He reached her and she stuck out her hand to shake.

"I'm Evangeline. What's your name?"

"George. My, you're forward," he said with a grin.

"I saw you watching me and I knew you wanted to come over."

"You knew, did you?" he teased.

"Oh yes, I was hoping you would too."

"Really? Intriguing."

She smiled, her face lighting up and her nose crinkling slightly, which he immediately found adorable. She held out a piece of parchment, on which was written _Evangeline Watson_. He took it and looked at her inquiringly.

"So you don't forget about me. Send me an owl; I'll see what I can do." She smiled and rested her hand softly on his left bicep. "It was very nice to meet you, George."

She gave him another look that was both strong yet twinkling. He wasn't sure how that was simultaneously possible, but here she was. She turned and walked back to her group of friends, collected her bag, and walked to the door. She turned once more, found his eyes watching her from across the pub, flashed him an impish grin, and then stepped out into the night.

This was it. This was the girl to get his mind off of those dreams. She was beautiful, mysterious, a definite challenge, and, best of all, seemingly nothing like Hermione.


	20. Chapter 20

Hermione was in the middle of reading a new article for tomorrow's paper when Jonathan walked in.

"Hello," she said cheerfully.

"I just wanted to remind you of your appointment with Thomas Rockwell in five minutes. Just so you're prepared."

She laughed. "I think I'll be fine. I think I scared him off at the Minister's Ball," she said with a wink.

Jonathan let out a chuckle. "I still can't believe you did that."

Hermione just grinned. Jonathan had become a close friend and he was the only person she had told about what had happened that night between her and George, not even wanting to tell Harry or Ron out of trepidation of what their reactions may be if they knew. Jonathan smiled and nodded before heading out of her office and shutting the door behind him. Hermione went back to her paper, but she couldn't focus as well. It seemed counterintuitive that she was excited to see Rockwell, but this would be the first time they would meet since that night, and she couldn't wait to see how he acted. She fidgeted with her quill as she read, her eyes constantly flicking up to the clock. Three minutes. Two minutes. One. There was a knock at the office door. Showtime.

"Come in."

The door opened and revealed Thomas Rockwell, who smiled politely at her and stepping in, closing the door quietly behind him.

"Hello, Miss Granger. Thank you for meeting with me on such short notice. The Eastern European teams are up in arms because a few countries are trying to break up into smaller, individual states. Why they would do this right before the season starts is beyond me," he said, looking down often at his notes.

"That's ridiculous! What countries?"

"Mostly Serbia."

She scoffed. "Honestly, they're had so many team switches; this is getting ridiculous!"

He looked up and smiled. It wasn't his normal smile, the sly smile that was wickedly handsome but unappealingly dangerous, but rather a genuinely amused grin.

"I didn't know you followed Eastern Eurpoean quidditch, Miss Granger."

She grinned back. "Well, I have to be well-informed, don't I?"

The rest of their conversation sailed by smoothly. Hermione found herself sincerely enjoying talking to him, a new phenomenon for her as she had always wanted to back his face in with a frying pan previously. It was odd how he had somehow changed, even though he was probably just the same physically. His smile was genuine and lit up his eyes, which no longer held that predatory glint. She realized for the first time that his dark brown eyes had flecks of green in them and that he had a dimple on his right cheek that appeared when he smiled or laughed, which she was able to make him do. His short black hair and the slight shadow across his cheeks highlighted his strong jaw line, which suited the rest of his body, which was broad and strong. He was impossibly handsome, Hermione realized, but all of that atrocious behavior before had completely wiped that away for her. As they both stood and he was about to take his leave, he stuck out his hand to shake. She shook it, but held onto his just like he had done to her before.

"Thomas," she said softly. He started, obviously surprised at her using his first name, which she had never done. "I enjoyed talking to you today. Can I give you a word of advice?"

"Sure," he said, still holding her hand, curious.

"If this was the man I had met months ago, I would have taken you up on that lunch offer. He's much nicer and much more charming."

He blinked a couple times and then let out a bark of laughter. "Is that so?" She nodded. "Well, I certainly cocked things up, didn't I?"

"A little bit."

They both laughed and looked down, realizing they were still holding hands. They let go and he looked up at her, almost sheepishly.

"Well, I'll probably see you next week. It was lovely talking to you, Hermione."

"Bye, Thomas."

They smiled at each other and he walked out of the office.

 

 

Hermione stepped out of the floo and hurried to her room.

"George?" she called.

There was no response. She was pretty sure he had already left. Good, that would make getting ready quite a bit easier. She walked to the bathroom, shedding her clothes as she went. Ten minutes later found her stepping out of the bathroom, hair wash and dried and some light makeup put on. She walked out, feeling oddly free as she walked back to her room stark naked, and went to get dressed. She never got to do this when George was around. Maybe it would be nice having her own flat. She stared at her cupboard for a few minutes before she decided to go with the basics. She wasn't going on a date after all. She stepped in front of her mirror and nodded in approval. Jeans, some simple flats, and a dark green blouse. Good enough, she thought as she hurried from the room and grabbed her bag. She debated grabbing a jacket, but it was a warmer night and she was only going down the street, so she decided against it. She headed out through the store and out onto Diagon Alley, turning left as she headed towards George's favorite pub, The Crooked Wand. A few moments later, she stepped through the door, her eyes immediately scanning for a familiar face.

"Hermione!"

She looked over to see George waving at her. She smiled and hurried over. He stood up when she got there and gave her a tight hug, which she returned. Once he had let her go, he turned and gestured to the woman in the chair next to him.

"Hermione, I'd like you to meet Evangeline Watson."

Hermione turned her head and was immediately floored. She felt her jaw slacken and she shook herself, immediately smiling and holding out her hand to shake. Evangeline grasped it and gave it a good, firm shake.

"Nice to meet you, Hermione," she said, her voice pleasant.

"It's a pleasure," said Hermione, trying to maintain a casual yet friendly expression.

This had to be a joke. It had to be. This woman was flawless. And not like Cressida, who strove to look perfect at every moment. This girl was natural and unfairly gorgeous. She was slender, willowy, with long, graceful arms and legs. Her hair, which seemed blonde in the dim light, swung perfectly into place every time she moved, and her green eyes were wide with excitement as she talked about something that Hermione was not paying attention to. Hermione smiled and nodded, not hearing a word the girl was saying. She seemed perfect, head to toe, with her blemish-free skin and perfect nails. She was wearing some jeans and a light sweater, but she seemed so effortlessly elegant that Hermione felt thoroughly underdressed. George spoke up and Hermione snapped back to attention.

"I'll be right back," he said with a smile before standing up and heading towards the toilet.

"And there he goes, leaving us to bond or something," Evangeline joked.

Hermione smiled, feeling slightly that she hadn't been listening before to what Evangeline had been saying. They talked about their careers and their hobbies for a while until George came back with fresh refills. Apparently, she was an artist, a painter, whose work was going to be in a famous gallery in two weeks. She was also an avid reader. Hermione was absolutely thrown; it was like talking to herself, and she had no idea what to do. She wasn't used to having intellectual conversations with people she met in bars. Just to get Evangeline off the topic of magical creature rights, which Hermione knew was one of her bones of contention, she asked, "So you two have been dating for two weeks now, right?"

"Yes," said George with a smile and a fond look at Evangeline, who beamed back.

"How did you two meet?"

"It's actually a funny story," started Evangeline. Hermione already knew it wasn't going to be. Inevitably, stories that were prefaced with _this is so funny_ rarely were. "We were at this very bar, and I noticed George kept watching me. I knew he was going to come over."

"How did you even know?" George cut across, smiling at her as he wrapped his arm around her shoulders.

"I just did. Now shush, you're interrupting," she said in a falsely-stern voice. George just laughed. Hermione frowned slightly. He didn't laugh like that when she shushed him. He usually rolled his eyes and continued talking. She realized her brow was furrowed and quickly arranged her face into an interested smile. "So when he _finally_ came to make his move, I was prepared. I walked a little ways away from my mates and immediately introduced myself and handed him a card with my name on it. And that's it!"

Well, she was right. That was not amusing in the least. Why did couples always think their story was unique and interesting when it was so obviously mundane? She had never thought the way she had met Malcolm had been funny. It had been pretty ordinary, honestly. Hermione laughed pleasantly and said, "That is funny!" before taking another sip of her Butterbeer. Somehow, she figured this was not going to be her last beer or last lie of the night.

 

 

"Well, I'd better be off. I'll let you two have some time to yourselves. Merlin knows I've been here taking up your time," she said with a smile, already standing and grabbing her bag. She resisted the urge to knock back the rest of her beer in a very un-Hermione-ish manner. It had been that kind of a night.

"Oh, really?" said George, a little sadly. "Already?"

"Oh stop it," she teased, "I'll see you at home later." Hermione was pleased to see Evangeline stiffen slightly. She wondered if George had mentioned they lived together.

"Very true," said George with a smile, standing up to give her a tight hug.

Evangeline stood up and walked around the table, wrapping her arms around Hermione as soon as George had let her go.

"It was so wonderful to meet you," she said sweetly.

"You as well," said Hermione with a smile, patting the woman awkwardly on the back, wanting the hug to end. In comparison to this woman, Hermione felt like a squat little troll and the hugging was not helping alleviate that sudden drop in her self esteem. Evangeline let her go and Hermione gave the couple a quick wave before hurrying out and back down the street, but it felt as though she was trying to wade through mud with how long the journey to their apartment suddenly seemed. She finally let out a huff and spun on the spot, landing with a _crack!_ in the middle of their sitting room. She strode into her room, throwing her bag on the ground, not caring that her lipstick and wallet started spilling out and rolling across the floor. She quickly shed her clothes, leaving them in a heap on the floor, and pulled on some old pyjamas which consisted of a men's shirt that had been worn so often it was now tissue soft and some shorts.

"Oh, well, when I was in South America, painting the rugged and beautiful terrain…" mocked Hermione to the silent house. "When I was in Uganda helping impoverished families..."

She groaned and threw herself onto her bed. She heard a little _mrow_ and Balthazar jumped onto the bed, rubbing his fuzzy head against her arm before stepping on her pillow and beginning to knead it.

"Why does she have to be so bloody perfect?" she asked Balthazar, who just tilted his head and blinked at her.

She knew she should be happy for George, but as she sat there, absent-mindedly petting her purring kitten, she frowned at the memory of Evangeline. Could she hate someone for being too perfect, too nice? Was that allowed? She disliked many people because they were absolutely horrid, but Evangeline wasn't. She wasn't anything negative. She was beautiful, kind, funny, intelligent, and witty. She was an award-winning artist, a humanitarian, and a genuinely nice person. And Hermione hated her for it.


	21. Chapter 21

It was a lovely Saturday morning, and Hermione had had a solid night's sleep, which was hard to come by lately. She stretched and rolled to the edge of the bed before swinging her legs over the side and standing up. She shuffled out to the kitchen, rubbing her eyes and yawning, and flicked her wand at the tea kettle, which began to whistle merrily. She pulled down a mug and a tea bag, black tea with hints of vanilla and peach, from its box, and set to making herself her morning cup of tea. She bustled around, making herself some toast as she let the tea steep. As she was about to sit down to enjoy her quiet breakfast alone, she heard footsteps from behind.

"Good morning, George. Want a cup?"

She turned, but was not facing a sleepy George, but rather a tousled and surprised Evangeline, who seemed to be wearing one of George's shirts, a faded Weasley's Wizard Wheezes t-shirt, some purple underwear with playful frills on the edges, and nothing else.

"Oh, gosh. Umm, good morning," said Evangeline, blushing, obviously embarrassed. Hermione was far too acclimated to George's conquests walking around half-naked, and just nodded her head.

"I forgot you lived here as well," she said to Hermione, who was now gathering her buttered toast onto a plate.

"Yes, George does often forget to mention that. Did he leave already, or-?"

"Oh no, he's still asleep. I woke up and I didn't want to bother him."

Hermione let out a _hmm_ noise. This was a new development. The fact that not only was George still here after bringing a woman home, but that he was still asleep spoke volumes. He must be pretty serious about this girl. Hermione didn't particularly like Evangeline, not for any logical reason besides that she was too perfect, but seeing her blushing from embarrassment, in a baggy shirt with her perfect hair bent and frizzy from sleep and her makeup smudged, giving her the appearance of having dark circles under her eyes, made Hermione feel a little better. Apparently, this girl didn't always look perfect. If George really liked this girl, Hermione supposed she just had to take one for the team.

"Want some tea or something?"

"That'd be lovely. If you don't mind, of course," said Evangeline with a small smile.

Hermione set to busying herself making the tea and an extra piece of toast, and everything was going fine until Hermione sat back down across from Evangeline. She was munching on some toast and her eyes fell on Evangeline just as she was going to take a sip of her steaming tea. She froze as the cup was almost to her mouth, her eyes fixed on Hermione chest. Evangeline made some inarticulate noise and Hermione immediately felt uncomfortable. She wanted to cross her arms over her chest, not understanding why the other woman's gaze was fixed there, but definitely feeling perturbed by it.

"You okay there?" Hermione asked.

Evangeline frowned and was about to speak up when George walked out, wearing some bright red pants and running his fingers through his hair, which was standing up on end, as he yawned.

"Mornin'," he said cheerfully, not noticing the odd tension in the room.

He walked past Hermione, his fingers resting softly on the back of her neck, playing with her hair for only a second before he walked past and bent down to kiss Evangeline on the lips. This seemed to snap Evangeline out of her preoccupation and she kissed him back. As soon as he turned to make himself some tea, however, Hermione noticed a crease between her eyebrows as her eyes traveled between George and Hermione.

"So how is everyone?" asked George with a smile as he sat down. He looked over at Evangeline, then Hermione, and then back at Evangeline. "Hang on," he said with a grin, "are you both wearing my same shirt?"

Hermione, confused, looked down at her pyjama shirt and then looked over at Evangeline, whose forehead crease had deepened. They were indeed both wearing George's Weasley's Wizard Wheezes shirts. Hermione finally made the connection to Evangeline's actions just as George spoke up.

"Huh, what a coincidence! Funny," he said, chuckling to himself as he brought his tea to his lips.

Hermione knew it was coincidence, but by the way Evangeline was looking at her and George, she knew he was the only one who found this funny.

 

 

"You ready, 'Mione?" George called from his room.

"Almost," she shouted back.

He looked back at his reflection. He was wearing some khaki trousers and a bright blue button-down, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows as usual. It didn't look like anything special, but he figured it would work for the family event. Plus, Angie always says he should wear blue to bring out the blue in his eyes. He nodded at his reflection, approving of what he saw, and walked out. Hermione didn't seem to be ready to leave yet.

"Hey, 'Mione, I'm going to meet you there. I have to go pick up Angie and bring her since she's never been to the Burrow before."

There was a slight pause before Hermione responded: "Alright. I'll see you there. Don't forget your gift! Charlie will never let you live it down if you forget his present two years running."

"Thanks!"

He headed to the fireplace and called out Evangeline's address before stepping into the fire. He stepped out into her sitting room.

"Angie, I'm here."

Evangeline waltzed out of her room, her flowy skirt spinning around her knees as she twirled in front of him. He laughed and caught her. She tilted her head up and kissed him on the mouth.

"So, what do you think? Is this a good outfit to meet your parents in?"

"You look perfect. And you're not just meeting my parents. You're sort of meeting my whole family," he said, mumbling the last bit.

"George! You need to warn me of these things more than five minutes in advance!"

She smacked him on the chest, and he moved forward, wrapping his arms around her and successfully pinning his arms against his chest.

"Don't worry. They're going to love you."

 

 

George placed his hand on Evangeline's back to steady her and looked around. From the noises emanating from the house a few paces away, it seemed as though the party already had a solid start. Evangeline was looking at his childhood home with a small smile on her face.

"You ready?"

"Yes," she said, as if steeling herself. She took his hand in hers and they started walking towards the house.

They stepped across the threshold and the rumble of many people talking filled their ears. George walked over to his parents, who were talking in the kitchen, and smiled brightly as they turned and saw him.

"George! And you must be that new girl he's been talking about," said Mrs. Weasley, smiling at Evangeline.

"Mum, Dad, I'd like you to meet Evangeline Watson."

"It's very nice to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley," said Evangeline politely, holding out her hand to shake theirs.

"Oh, it's Molly and Arthur, dear, and we give hugs in this family," Mrs. Weasley said, moving forward and scooping the very surprised girl into a hug. She smiled and hugged back before being released and being quickly hugged by Mr. Weasley. "Welcome to the Burrow. Make yourself at home."

George brought Evangeline around, introducing her to everyone he could find. She met Charlie, the birthday boy, who gave her a bear hug and, for how tipsy he was, a surprisingly chaste kiss on the cheek as well as a slightly slurred "Welcome to the Family." She met Bill and had a conversation on Gringotts' methods for curse breaking. She talked to Ron about his revival of the Chudley Cannons as their manager and coach, and Angelina and Ginny on their matches as the two lead chasers for the Holyhead Harpies. She talked to Harry about his job as lead Auror and their work with tracking down any remaining Death Eaters, and talked to Mrs. Weasley about a new cookbook she had just bought. She talked to practically everyone at the party and everyone loved her. George beamed every time he got a pat on the back, a wink, a nod, or a whispered "Nicely done, mate." It was only about an hour into the party that he realized something, or rather, someone was missing.

"Harry, where's Hermione?"

Harry looked away from his conversation with Lee and Ron and frowned slightly.

"How could you have lost track of Hermione?"

"Yeah, lately it's like you two have been attached at the hip," added Ron.

"Well, we came separately because-"

"Oh Merlin, the Missus has been replaced by the Mistress," said Lee with a nasty grin at George. George glared at Lee, understanding his jab at his thankfully-less-prevalent dreams about Hermione, while Ron and Harry looked at Lee in confusion. "Don't worry about it, mates. It's just a personal joke between George and me."

"Umm okay," said Harry hesitantly. "So you were saying you came separately?"

"Yeah, because I went to get Angie. I haven't seen her around. Is she here?"

"Yeah, she's here. Last time I saw her, she was talking to Oliver," said Ron, pointing vaguely in the direction of the back of the house.

"Thanks," said George before hurrying over in the direction of the back door.

He weaved his way through people, stopping to say hello and exchange pleasantries before finally making it to the back door, which was propped open slightly to let cool air into the crowded and very warm house. He heard familiar voices and walked through the door. There was Hermione, in a dark blue dress that was fitted at the top and draped as it hit her waist, giving her what looked like a perfect figure, and a bright yellow cardigan. He could tell her hair had been neatly curled, but thanks to the heat of the house and the wind from outside, her hair was everywhere, very reminiscent of her days at Hogwarts, although much more attractive and much less bushy. She and Oliver were standing quite close, which George understood, as it was very difficult to hear anyone without shouting. He was just about to walk forward when a gust of wind curved through the back porch and again tossed Hermione's hair this way and that. Oliver and Hermione laughed and, as the air settled, Oliver's hand moved forward, brushing a rogue curl away from Hermione's face and tucking it behind her ear. Hermione giggled and thanked him before resuming their previous conversation.

George couldn't explain why, but he suddenly felt anger slowly heating up the coals of his heart. Why was Oliver playing with Hermione's hair? He, George, was the only one that did that. Not even Harry or Ron did that for Hermione; they only chuckled good-naturedly when her hair fell into her face, as it so often did. And was it his eyes playing tricks on his, or had Oliver's fingers lingered by her face for an extra second before he put his hands back in his trouser pockets, his trademark stance? Just as George started feeling heat rising to the back of his neck, Oliver looked over and realized he was there.

"George! Hey, mate, when did you get here?" he asked cheerfully, bounding forward and giving him their traditional handshake and hug.

"Oliver!" cried George back, immediately back to his normal self, laughing and slapping his former Quidditch captain on the back. "How are you, mate?"

"Brilliant," said Oliver with a grin. "Staying out of the way of Hurricane Charlie right now. He's in a "Let's Kiss Everyone" phase of drunkenness currently."

"Yeah, he already kissed my girlfriend. On the cheek, thankfully. Hermione," he said, turning to her, "I've been here an hour and I couldn't find you! I was worried you hadn't shown!"

Hermione smiled and gave him a hug, squeaking slightly as her feet left the ground for a moment. As he set her down, he noticed out of the corner of his eye that Oliver took a small step closer to her.

"I've been here the whole time! I was inside, but it was getting stuffy and Charlie was getting more rambunctious, so I decided it was time to back out for a little while. Thankfully, Oliver here came to my rescue before Charlie drunkenly snogged me," she said, laughing as she rested a hand on Oliver's formidable bicep.

Oliver laughed and swung his arm around Hermione's shoulders, hugging her slightly to his side.

"We couldn't let that happen! We both know Charlie would be right embarrassed about that once he sobered up."

They all chuckled and as a strong wind raised gooseflesh on their skin, they decided to all head inside.

 

 

"She's something, isn't she?" said Ron appreciatively.

Hermione, Harry, and Ginny looked in the direction that he was looking. Hermione frowned at the sight before her: Evangeline, looking as perfect as ever in a nice skirt and blouse, was talking with Teddy, who was babbling about his favorite toy, a stuffed wolf. With the light hitting her hair and making it gleam red, she looked perfect here. She looked as if she belonged in the Weasley house, and it was infuriating.

"Yeah, she's something alright," muttered Hermione bitterly.

"She's just marvelous with Teddy," said Ginny.

"And she knows so much about the auror program. She seems to know something about practically every topic," said Harry, clearly impressed.

"Just like you, Hermione," added Ron.

Hermione scowled and scoffed.

"What?"

"I don't like her," mumbled Hermione.

"Why?" asked Harry.

"She's too-, too perfect," huffed Hermione. "I know that sounds stupid, but it's so frustrating. Everyone loves her! I know something on every topic and everyone thinks I'm a know-it-all!"

"No we don't!" cried Harry.

"You did when we were at Hogwarts."

"Well, that's true," replied Ron.

"I'm just sick of 'Evangeline this' and 'Evangeline that' and 'Evangeline is so beautiful and so nice and so smart.' It's just irritating. I know it sounds petty, but I live with George. It's all I hear. Constantly."

Hermione tried not to scowl, but wasn't extremely successful.

"Well, what about Oliver?" asked Ginny.

"What about him?" asked Hermione, although she visibly perked up.

"I think he fancies you."

"No he doesn't," said Hermione, although she started blushing.

"Look at you, fancying the old Quidditch captain," teased Harry. "And you used to complain when we would talk about it. How do you not lose it when you're around him? Quidditch is all he can talk about!"

"Well, maybe he's more interesting when he talks about it than you two numpties."

"Or maybe you just don't want to snog us," said Ron with a sly grin, laughing as Hermione swatted his arm, flushing furiously.

"What are you lot talking about?" said a deep voice.

They all looked around to see Oliver watching them, a grin playing on his lips.

"Well, speak of the devil," said Ron, grinning as he winked at Hermione, knowing she couldn't hit him with Oliver's broad body blocking the way.

"Nothing interesting," replied Ginny quickly before Hermione could say anything. "Do you need to steal Hermione away from us?"

Oliver, completely missing Harry, Ron, and Ginny's smirks and Hermione's glaring at them, smiled.

"As a matter of fact I do."

 

 

He had just left Evangeline talking to Fleur, who was playing with Teddy, and walked over to Lee, who had just said something to his girlfriend and given her a kiss before she walked away.

"What's eating you, mate?" asked Lee after one look at his best friend's furrowed brow.

"Have you noticed Oliver and Hermione?" he asked, trying to sound unconcerned and failing.

"Yeah, I've noticed," Lee said with a grin. "What exactly am I supposed to notice, though?"

"They're awfully close tonight."

"Am I sensing a hint of jealousy, dear George?"

"No," George responded, far too quickly. George talked over Lee's laughter. "I just, they've never been close before."

"So?"

"And suddenly she's all attractive and-"

"She _is_ attractive, George, and single. She's past any possible mourning for her ex and now she's available."

George looked over at where Hermione was standing with his younger siblings and Harry. She was attractive. And she had been absolutely stunning at the Minister's Ball. But that didn't change anything, and it certainly did not mean he fancied her. Because he felt nothing of the sort. At all.

"He's never mentioned an interest in her before!"

"Maybe there wasn't one. You don't know."

"Has he mentioned anything to you?" George looked questioningly as Lee, and immediately glared at Lee's poor attempts to look innocent. "What did he say?"

"He said he thought she was lovely. That she'd 'really grown into something beautiful,' or something of the sort. Why have you got a problem about this? He's one of our best mates; you know he's not going to hurt her."

"I'm just protective," shot back George, who was busy glaring at Oliver, who had made his way over to the group and was talking to them. Hermione's cheeks were bright red, and he wondered if Oliver had triggered such a rare response from her.

"This is more than protective. You're jealous, aren't you?"

"No, I am not."

"Yes, you are."

"No! I'm not!"

"Then why are you so against this?"

"Because she's mine!"

George's jaw immediately snapped shut, stunned, and he looked at Lee, who had a matching look of utter shock on his face.

"Well, that was unexpected," mumbled Lee.

"Where the bloody hell did that come from?" whispered George, running his fingers through his hair, obviously perturbed.

"I don't know," said Lee as both of them watched as Hermione walked away from the group, Oliver's hand on the small of her back, "but you've got some feelings to sort out, man."


	22. Chapter 22

Hermione smiled as she walked slowly up the stairs to the flat, rereading the letter from Oliver in her mind.

 

_Hermione,_

I know you're terribly busy being terribly busy with your job, but it must get you stressed every once and a while. If that stress comes soon, I'd be happy to take you out for a drink and be your sounding board. Not that I'm hoping you will have a stressful day or anything…but I am.

Send me an owl.

Cheers,

Oliver

 

She grinned to herself. She had never really gotten to know Oliver when they were at school. She had only ever known him as Harry's manic and fiercely competitive quidditch coach. Yes, she had always thought he was handsome, but so had every other girl in her year. And her house. And her school, even if the other houses didn't want to admit it. So she had never paid him much attention. Sure, they had shared a few sharp words here and there when it came to Harry's priorities, but she had had many more arguments with Ron or the twins, so their conversations had never stood out. But now, this was different; they'd both changed so much, both from the effects of the war and the simple passing of many years. Maybe it was time to see where this would go. She couldn't let her bad experience with Malcolm ruin any further ones.

She finally made it up to the door and stepped inside.

"Hello," she called.

Her eyes immediately fell on the sofa, where she could see the back of Evangeline's head, her hair pulled back into a messy ponytail. Hermione stepped forward and saw George was lying on the couch, his head in her lap, her fingers carding through his hair as they each read a magazine, his about quidditch and hers about fashion. Her mind immediately jumped back to a similar scene that took place about eight months ago.

_  
Hermione was sitting on the sofa, her feet resting on the coffee table in front of her, her left hand holding the book open, her right hand playing with George's hair as she read a muggle mystery novel. George's legs were hooked over the arm of the sofa, his back against the seat of the sofa and his head in Hermione's lap. His eyes were closed, his teeth biting on his full bottom lip in an aggravated manner._

_"…and that's the end!"  
_

She immediately felt her eyes well up with tears. She shook her head slightly, forcing herself to move, and walked quickly to her bedroom.

"'lo, 'Mione," George called, but she ignored it.

She closed the door and quickly put a silencing charm on her bedroom door. She squeezed her eyes shut, willing herself not to do this, but two rogue tears slipped through her lashes, raced down her cheeks, and splashed onto her blouse. Why was she even crying about this? It was ridiculous. She wiped her eyes forcefully with the back of her hands, and started changing out of her word robes and into her pajamas, but the crying continued, unbidden and unwanted. She had gotten used to George being single. She had hounded him for so long for having a long string of one- or two-night stands, telling him it was disrespectful and all parties involved deserved better. 'Well,' she thought bitterly, 'you got what you asked for.' Now there was Evangeline, and she seemed to be George's perfect girl. Hermione knew she should be happy for him, but she couldn't help but dislike this 'new George,' the one who talked about Evangeline constantly as if he was a lovesick teenager; the one who was always over at her place on Fridays and Saturdays, which had been when George and Hermione would spend time together; the one who always had a date to things, including family dinner every Sunday. She supposed all of these things were fine, but seeing them sitting like that physically hurt her.

Had she been replaced?

To be fair, she and George had never been 'together.' They had always denied that vehemently when they were teased by Harry and the Weasley family for always doing things together. But now, all of that, that silly and comfortable and ridiculous relationship, was gone. They only saw each other in passing, it seemed, and Evangeline always felt like a constant presence in the flat, even if she was not there. Now, when Hermione slipped on her favorite shirt, George's Team Ireland shirt from the Quidditch World Cup, it felt as if she was doing wrong by wearing it, because it belonged to his girlfriend now.

She looked into the mirror that hung next to her armoire. There was her hair, a mass of crazy curls that seemed to have a mind of their own once let out from her professional updo; there was her bright red face, her eyes slightly puffy, her nose running, and her cheeks still wet from tears she wished she wouldn't cry; there was George's faded green shirt, almost covering her bum because it was two sizes too big. She looked at the shirt and smiled slightly. This was George's favorite shirt. He had been going mad trying to find it until he barged into her room and saw her wearing it when she had her awful cold. His frustration had melted away and was replaced with a smile.  
 _  
"I'm sorry, George. But it's so comfortable and mine is in-"_

_"You can have it."_

_"Are you sure?"_

_"Yeah. Take good care of it for me."_

Hermione nodded at her reflection. Evangeline may have George, but she would never have George's favorite shirt.

 

 

George loved the feel of her lips on his. She was an amazing kisser. So many people had something wrong with how they kissed. Some bit too much (Claudia and Lillian), some used too much tongue (Zara, Gabrielle, and Hannah), and some kept their eyes open. He mentally shuddered every time he thought of Julie. That night had ended as soon as he had opened his eyes and saw she was watching him. But Evangeline did everything perfectly. He smiled as she moved, straddling his hips and leaning forward to continue the kiss, his back and head propped up by his bed's pillows. Not waiting for her to get there, he sat up slightly and wrapped his arms around her, one around her waist, the other in her hair.

"George," she said into the kiss.

"Her-"

He might have frozen internally at that moment. It certainly felt like his brain had just been dropped into the icy waters of the Arctic Ocean.

"What?" she said quietly as she pulled away slightly, a questioning smile in her voice.

"Hair. Got in my mouth," he said quickly, giving her one of his winning smiles.

She giggled and pulled her hair back into a ponytail.

"There. All better."

"You know I'm just going to pull out the elastic, right?" he said with a smirk.

"Of course." She smiled at him before moving forward again.

A part of him knew he should be taking a moment to figure out why the hell Hermione's name had almost came out of his mouth during his snogging session with his girlfriend, but the part of him that had Evangeline's lips on his neck and her hands on his bare chest told him to forget about it until a less enticing moment was upon him.

 

 

Oliver,

I'm having a hell of a day today. I could use a drink. How about you?

Best,

Hermione

 

Hermione,

Funny you should mention that. I could do with a pint myself. When do you get off work? Practice ends at four today.

Cheers,

Oliver

 

Oliver,

I'll be leaving around five.

Best,

Hermione

 

Hermione,

How about we meet at The Crooked Wand around 5? Maybe get a bite to eat as well.

Oliver

 

Oliver,

That sounds lovely. I'll see you then.

Hermione


	23. Chapter 23

"Hermione, over here!"

Hermione turned her head in the direction of the familiar deep voice and smiled when her eyes landed on Oliver, who was standing up from a booth towards the back of the pub. She smiled and headed over to him. He opened his arms and the exchanged a light hug that lasted a few seconds longer than usual, mostly because neither seemed to want to let go too quickly. They sat down, Hermione sliding into the seat across from Oliver.

"Sorry," he said quickly with one of his boyish grins, "I ordered for you." He gestured at the two Butterbeers on the table. "I hope you don't mind."

"No, thank you," she said quickly, "That was very sweet of you."

"So what happened to make it a 'hell of a day'? It can't be your wardrobe because you look really lovely."

He smiled at her, an open smile that showed her he actually meant what he said. She felt a tinge of embarrassment for a moment – why had she felt the need to analyze his expression? He had always been so open with her the last times they had talked. Perhaps she was just too used to watching George's face to see if he was being honest or joking.

She blushed and smiled gratefully as she glanced down at herself. She had come straight from work and was still wearing her black pencil skirt and white blouse, having taken off her traditional work robes and put them in her bag. It didn't matter how long she had lived in the wizarding world, she still felt more comfortable in muggle clothing than in billowing and cumbersome robes, which she only wore when she had an important meeting to attend.

"Well, thank you. That's sweet of you to say. No, it was just people at work. We're trying to hire some new writers and some secretaries, and it's just been mayhem. And I was rushing about at meetings. There was this woman I had to deal with today who was just awful! She was just horrid to me, and to everyone around. She made one of my writers start crying in the middle of the meeting. She reminded me of Rita Skeeter. She even had the blonde hair and the bright clothing!"

Oliver shuddered.

"That woman's a ruddy nightmare. I remember she wrote this piece on the team. Made us all out to be these big hulking morons who couldn't find the right end of a broomstick. I remember she wrote about me and said I was, 'an uncouth teuchter whose mildly good looks were not enough to make up for my horrible temperament.'"

"That's awful!" Hermione cried. "You're plenty good looking! And you don't have a horrible temperament! Manic, maybe every once and a while, but you're hardly bad tempered."

Oliver laughed.

"Manic? _I'm_ manic? Says the woman who snapped at people for touching her tower of books in school and tried to study in the middle of a quidditch party."

"You were no better, making everyone practice in storms and at ungodly hours of the morning! You put quidditch before school and you acted like every game was a matter of life or death!"

"Sometimes it was! You must remember all the accidents. Just Harry alone made it look like quidditch was a fight to the death. Or at least to the Hospital Wing."

"You're ridiculous," Hermione said, laughing and rolling her eyes.

"And what was that about me being 'plenty good looking'?" Oliver asked with a grin.

"What?" Hermione blushed slightly, mentally cursing her cheeks as she felt them heating up.

"You said I was 'plenty good looking.'" Oliver's cocky grin was unmistakable now; he was clearly having fun making Hermione turn colors.

"You know you are," Hermione said, trying to sound as blasé as possible. "There's no need to get a big head over it."

Oliver chuckled, seeing right through her bored countenance.

"Well, you're far beyond 'plenty good looking.'" He smiled softly as Hermione blushed furiously and mumbled a _thank you but really I don't think-._ "You really are. I don't think you're told that enough, but you're beautiful. Inside and out."

Hermione was saved from trying to figure out how to coherently respond to such a sweet statement by a waitress coming to their table.

"Are you two interested in dinner?"

 

 

"What do you feel like doing tonight?" Evangeline said as she looked at her reflection in George's mirror and fixed a stray hair that was falling from her ballerina bun, which was adorned with a simple black ribbon tied in a bow.

"How about we go out to dinner?"

"Oh that sounds nice. You know, there's this new French place called Le Lapin Grillé that I've been dying to try."

"Hermione told me about that place. She said it's got amazing food, really authentic. I think she went there about a week ago."

"Of course she did," muttered Evangeline.

"That sounds like a good place to go," said George as he searched around his room for his wallet. He had thrown it onto his desk yesterday but it was now lost in the mess of crumpled parchment, product designs, and general debris that filled his room.

"Well, if Hermione says so, it must be," said Evangeline bitterly.

"What?" George turned towards her, frowning slightly.

"Nothing," she said, but there was definitely a sharp edge to it.

"No, there was definitely something. What's wrong?" he asked cautiously.

"Nothing. It's fine. Let's go to dinner. I'm thinking Chinese," she said. George could tell the cheery note to her voice was false, but she left the room before he could mention it. He decided he would just keep it to himself.

 

 

Hermione and Oliver walked out of the pub, laughing about some story he was telling about one of his teammates, who had shown up to practice completely wasted and rudely impersonated their coach, who had been standing behind him the whole time, before jumping on his broom and barely clinging on for a few moments before falling off, having only been a meter off the ground the entire time.

"I had a really great time tonight, Oliver," said Hermione as she looked up at him.

He smiled at her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

"I'm glad. I'm always here if you ever need someone to help brighten your frustrating day," said Oliver.

They made their way down the road until the ended at Weasley's Wizard Wheezes.

"Thank you so much for tonight; it was a lot of fun," she said.

"I'm glad you had fun. I did too," said Oliver.

There was a moment, a tense moment where neither knew exactly what to do with themselves considering they were standing close, Hermione standing on a step above him so their faces were level. Just as Hermione was feeling terribly awkward and thinking that maybe she should give him a quick hug and then run upstairs to hide in her room, mortified at her sudden lack of people skills, Oliver leaned forward. His lips met hers as he kissed her softly. He started to move back when she leaned forward and continued the kiss. He smiled into the kiss before wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her closer. She wrapped her arms around his neck, one hand on the back of his neck as they kissed, more decisively than before. A few moments later, before anything could get heated, they broke apart.

"Goodnight, Hermione," he said softly.

"Goodnight, Oliver."

 

 

They were lying together on his bed, his fingers playing with her hair as she drew imaginary pictures on his chest with her finger. They had been lying like this for a while now, probably about half an hour, however long it had been since they had gotten back from the Chinese restaurant. It was calm, comfortable. He felt his eyes starting to close as he felt the warmth of her body against his.

"George?"

"Hm?"

"We should move in together."

He was awake now.

"What?" he said sharply, sitting up quickly.

She sat up as well and immediately repositioned herself to face him as she pleaded her case.

"Wouldn't that be nice? I mean, we're over at either yours or my place almost every night. I already have some of my clothes here. I mean, I have a toothbrush here for Merlin's sake. Wouldn't it just be smarter to put it all together and not have to worry about who's at what house and having to go back to change or whatever?"

"You want us…to live together…like, together-together?" said George hesitantly, still feeling a little slow. This had blindsided him and he still hadn't exactly caught up yet.

"I could move in here and—"

"But Hermione lives here."

"She can move out," Evangeline said cheerily.

"No, she can't," said George slowly.

"Yes, she can live somewhere else and we can use that room as—"

"I'm not going to kick Hermione out because you want to suddenly move in."

"I mean, we've been together for four months," she said with a hopeful smile.

"Three and half, and that's really soon to be moving in, Angie," he said, now feeling definitely uneasy.

"You moved in with Hermione just because she needed a place to live. You weren't even dating her!"

"But that's different—"

Evangeline stood up and began pacing the room, her hands gesturing violently as she talked.

"You moved in with her and you didn't even have a relationship. And we're actually a couple and you have a problem with this?"

"My mum arranged it. It wasn't like I invited her up to my room and then told her she should stay."

Evangeline's cheeks were bright red now and her green eyes flashed dangerously.

"Don't even say this was because of your mum. If you two didn't like it, she could have found new digs and moved out. But she stayed. You two have been living together for almost a year now. Is there something going on?"

"What? What do you mean by that?"

"Is there something going on between you two?" she half-shouted.

"Wha-, no! Angie, you know there's nothing like that happening!" George said quickly, feeling almost angry that she was accusing him of infidelity. He might have not kept up with the girls when they were all one-night stands, but he prided himself on being an honest and loyal partner.

"Ten months, George. That's a long time to be living with a woman and not have anything happening," she said, her insinuation coming through in every word she said.

"Evangeline, for fuck's sake, I did not cheat on you! And I never would! I'm just saying I don't want to rush into things, and moving in after three and a half months is most certainly rushing it."

"She moved in the next day after you talked about this. _The next day_ , George."

"I knew her for nine years before she moved in. It's not like she's some floozy I picked up off the street. Hermione is one of my best friends," defended George, angrily gritting his teeth as he felt the back of his neck and his ears burning in true Weasley fashion.

"Men and women can never be _just_ friends, George!" Evangeline shouted, finally coming to a standstill in front of him.

"That's bollocks and you know it!" he shouted back, just on the edge of completely losing his temper.

"Look me straight in the eyes and tell me you've never thought about Hermione as more than a friend," Evangeline challenged, practically seething now.

"What?"

"You heard me. Do it. Look me in the eyes and tell me you've never thought of her that way."

"You're ridiculous," he said, fuming.

"You won't do it because it's true. I'm done, George. I'm done trying to match her, be better than her."

"What are you even talking about?"

"Oh come on," she snapped. "You talk about her _constantly_ , she has an opinion on everything that you always feel the need to share with me. It's like you two are attached at the hip. She's practically a part of this relationship."

"That is bollocks! Since we started dating, I've seen less and less of Hermione. I don't think I've even had a full conversation with her this month. Why? Because I'm always with you!"

"So she's not physically around often, so what? She's all you talk about! You're ridiculous!"

Evangeline stormed out of the room and George followed her out to the sitting room, where she was forcefully pulling on her jacket.

"I'm ridiculous?" said George sardonically. "You want us to move in together after three months and _I'm_ ridiculous?"

"That's it, George," she said, walking to the front door and turning to face him. "You have to pick: Hermione or me. You do not get both any longer."

She turned on her heel, threw open the door, and walked out, slamming the door shut behind her.


	24. Chapter 24

They broke apart from the kiss, both of them breathing a little quicker than usual. Oliver gave her a small smile, whose soft, sweet manner was thwarted by the eyebrow raised in his usual endearing-yet-cocky manner. Hermione laughed softly to herself and grinned at him.

"Goodnight, Hermione."

"Goodnight, Oliver."

He was just about to move away from Hermione when there was the sound of rattling and the door Hermione had been leaning against was yanked open. Hermione started to topple backwards and Oliver quickly stepped closer, tightening his hold on her waist and pulling her to his chest so she wouldn't fall. They both looked over to see the source of their disruption and saw Evangeline standing there, just as surprised as they were. Her reddish bob was marred by a halo of frizz and her face was red and blotchy, black lines of mascara trailed down from her eyes, smudged as if she had forcefully tried to wipe them away. Her eyes met Hermione's and her angelic face was twisted, her expression wrathful.

"Are you okay, Evangeline?" Hermione asked worriedly.

Evangeline laughed cruelly, humorlessly. "Don't even get me started on you," she said as she tried to push past Hermione and Oliver, who were unintentionally blocking the doorway.

"Bu—"

"Get the fuck out of my way," Evangeline snarled.

Hermione felt a shiver of fear run down her spine. She had never seen someone so beautiful suddenly morph into something so terrifying, so…evil. It was hard to look at Evangeline, her face so contorted with rage that she was completely unrecognizable. She quickly moved and Evangeline stormed past, stepping out onto the street and turning quickly, disapperating. Hermione and Oliver stood there in silence for a moment before it hit Hermione.

"I-, I need to go check on George. I have to go. I'll talk to you later," she said quickly.

"I'll come up with you," said Oliver.

"No, it's fine. Thank you for tonight." She kissed him quickly on the lips. "I have to go. Goodnight!"

She turned on her heel, rushed into the store, shutting the door behind her, and ran up the stairs.

"George!" she called as she ran. "George!"

The door opened right as she got to the top landing.

"Hermione, what's wrong?" he asked, his brow furrowed in confusion.

Hermione looked him over quickly. His face was very red, but it was nothing compared to his ears and his neck, which looked about ready to catch on fire. Her eyes scanned him, shooting quickly to his hands. One was slowly bleeding and was starting to show signs of bruising. She shook her head; she knew him far too well.

"What have I told you about taking your anger out on the walls, George?" she admonished as she stepped into their flat and took his injured hand in hers. He hissed as she ran her fingers along the knuckles. At least three were broken.

"I'm fine, Hermione," he said, trying to pull his hand away half-heartedly.

"That's twaddle and you know it," she said, still checking his hand. She pulled out her wand, and in a matter of seconds that George grimaced through, George's wound was cleaned, the bones fixed, and the skin pulled together and healed. "What did you two fight about?"

"Just leave it, okay?" George growled.

"No, I won't leave it. It was obviously upsetting for both of you, so it must be big."

"Just leav-, wait, what do you mean, 'Both of you'?"

"I saw Evangeline. I was saying goodnight to Oliver," Hermione thought she saw George twitch slightly, his mouth turning into a scowl for hardly a second, but it was so fleeting, she decided it must have been her eyes playing tricks on her, "and she threw open the door. I almost crashed into her and she was horrid to me and said something like, 'Don't even get me started on you,' or something. And then she said something rude and rushed past us. She looked…"

"Terrifying? Threatening? Murderous?" supplied George wryly.

"Yes, that," said Hermione, definitely confused now.

"Yeah. That sounds about right," said George dryly. He turned and started to head to his room.

"No no no," half-laughing at the absurdity of this situation, "You can't just walk away." She ran in front of him, halting him, and wrapped her hands tightly around his wrists. "George," she said softly. "I'm here for you. Please talk to me."

George sighed heavily, and looked at her. He seemed exhausted, drained.

"We had a fight. She wanted to move in and accused me of infidelity when I said no and, long story short, she made me choose. And we broke up."

He tried to walk away, but Hermione still had a tight hold on his wrists.

"Made you choose what, George?"

"Don't worry about it. It's fine. It was best that we broke up anyways. She ended up being a little mad." He gave her a smile that was supposed to be amused but just looked sad.

"George, are you going to be alright?" she asked quietly.

"Of course. You know me, I always bounce back," he said with that same sad smile.

He started to walk away, his wrists easily pulling out of Hermione's slackened grip. Hermione hesitated for a moment before she walked after him. Right as he was about to walk into his room, she caught up with him. She walked up and hugged him from behind. She couldn't see it, but George smiled softly as he felt Hermione press her cheek against his back, her arms wrapped tight around his abdomen. He wrapped his arms around hers and squeezed lightly. He breathed in the smell of her, that familiar smell of warm laundry freshly cleaned and lemons, and mentally catalogued this moment in his mind. The way she always seemed to fit perfectly against him; the way she always knew when he was upset; the way she knew exactly when to pry and poke and when to let him be; these were all things on a long list of things he loved about his flatmate and best friend. She gave a tight squeeze and then unraveled her arms from around him. She rested her hand on his arm in a comforting gesture, and then walked away, going into her bedroom. George stepped into his room, the door closing with a soft _click_ , and rubbed his face with the palms of his hands.

"I chose you," he whispered.


	25. Chapter 25

It had been three weeks since George's breakup and Lee had decided that they all desperately needed a drink. So here they were, both George and Lee nursing glasses of Firewhiskey.

"Mate, it's been a long time since we were able to go out. I mean, I don't get it. I have a girlfriend and I don't become a recluse, but it seems like once everyone else has someone, they disappear. What the deuce is that all about?" said Lee teasingly.

"I think it's because your girlfriend is supportive, independent, and, most importantly, sane," said George with an ironic smile.

"Well, that is true," said Lee with a grin.

"So how are you, mate? I mean, I see you at work but it's been so crazy."

"I know – we can hardly ever get a word in edgewise," agreed George. He hesitated for a moment and took a sip of his drink. "I'm fine, you know. It's just been quieter around the house. I did go visit the family this weekend and guess who I saw? Hagrid! Yeah, for some reason he was there for dinner. Dunno why, but it was nice to talk to him. Mate, he looks pretty awesome with his hair and beard streaked with grey. He looks even more ridiculously huge."

They laughed. George took a sip of his drink before continuing.

"Oh, that reminds me; Hermione told me this great story about work the other day. So she's at work, you know, at the Daily Prophet, and there's been this huge lawsuit happening at the Ministry about the Magical Creatures Department and hippogriffs. Something about them being raised or lowered on the scale of how dangerous all the magical creatures are. So it's been going on forever, and you know how important Buckbeak was to Hermione, Harry, and Ron, so of course Hermione wants to cover the case. Well, apparently, the owner of the hippogriff on trial was angry about the outcome of the case and went down to Hermione's office to plead his case and get the paper on his side."

"So?" asked Lee with a confused smile.

"So he brought the hippogriff _with him_." He paused and let that sink in. Lee's eyes slowly widened and his smile broadened.

"No."

"Yes," said George with a laugh. "It went completely bonkers and ran about the whole building rampaging and kicking up a fuss. Apparently there's been massive cleanup ever since."

Lee smiled and took a sip of his drink. It was interesting to watch George these past couple months. It seemed that every time Lee asked his friend about how his life/day/whatever was going, he could hardly stay on the topic of himself for long before he switched onto Hermione. He tried to remember the first time it had happened; he was pretty sure it had been when George had confessed to having sex dreams about her. Lee grinned into his crystal tumbler. It was funny, really.

Then it all sunk in – the conversations, the dreams, the closeness.

And then it hit him.

His best friend was in love with his roommate. His roommate who happened to be dating their other best friend. And he, Lee, was stuck in the middle of it.

Oh bollocks.

He grimaced slightly and made a noise that was somewhere between a whine of discomfort and a squeak.

"Er…George…um…when you said you wanted us all to get together, I took it to mean all of us…so I invited Oliver as well. He should be along soon. That's not awkward or anything, is it?" he asked hesitantly.

George frowned in confusion.

"Why would that be awkward for Oliver to be here?"

Lee swallowed down his urge to say _Because you're in love with his girlfriend_ and replied, "Well, because you just had your breakup and all, and he's in a new relationship, and you know how that goes…"

"No, it's completely fine," said George with a laugh. "Oliver is one of our best mates. And I live with Hermione; I know how things are going for them. Oliver being here won't change that. What's gotten into you, Lee?"

"Oh, well, my mistake," said Lee with an easy laugh, although he wanted to shake George for being so bloody oblivious.

They continued to talk about random things, how the store was doing, the new laws the Ministry was trying to pass through the Wizengamot, until Oliver arrived and walked over to them. They all cheerily said their hellos as Oliver sat down.

"How have you been, mate?" asked George. "It's been forever."

"Only because you've been disappearing on us," said Oliver with a laugh.

"You both have," cut in Lee with a grin. "I'm clearly the only dependable one here."

Oliver and George snorted at that.

"So what have you been up to?" asked George.

"Well, I've just been training with the team, you know," said Oliver. "We had try-outs for the second string. It was not pretty. We're having the second round of them on Tuesday. Everything's been pretty normal." He took off his jacket and hung it on the back of his chair before sitting down again. "Oh! I have to tell you this story Hermione told me about her day at work. It's brilliant. Okay, so there was this guy who wanted Hermione's support on this case that the Ministry didn't like. And so he goes and you—," he laughed, "—you won't believe what happened!"

Lee raised his hand exaggeratedly as if they were back at school.

"If I guess this crazy ending correctly, you're buying the next round," he said, a mischievous grin playing around his lips. He looked over at George and winked.

"Alright, you're on," said Oliver, his eyebrow raised, intrigued by the challenge. "I'll take that bet because there's no way you can guess—"

"Hippogriff wreaks havoc in…er…let's say…important Ministry building," Lee cut in.

Oliver looked at him in surprise, his jaw hanging open slightly, while George watched him, his eyes narrowed slightly, a small frown creasing his forehead.

"How the ruddy hell did you get that?" cried Oliver.

"I got it right?" asked Lee in fake-surprise.

"Yeah! This bloke brought his hippogriff to the Daily Prophet, you know, where Hermione works. He wanted her help with something – I don't know why he thought bringing the damn thing would help – and it got loose and made an absolute mess of everything. Trashed offices, tore up the walls; it was mad," said Oliver. "That was dashed clever of you, mate! How'd you guess it right?"

"Oh come now!" exclaimed Lee with a grin. "Of course I was going to get it right! I'm just enormously impressive. You should have realized that before you took the bet! It's not my fault I'm just terribly smart. Well, actually, it is." He gave his friends a cheeky grin and a wink. "Now off with you, man! My drink's empty and you're buying!"

Oliver laughed and looked over at George, whose lips were pressed tight together.

"What about you, George?"

"Firewhiskey," George said quickly, an odd smile suddenly twisting his lips. "Thanks, mate."

Oliver grinned and headed off towards the bar.

"You alright there, George?" Lee asked cautiously, already knowing and not wanting to hear the response.

"That was absolutely ridiculous," muttered George angrily, his eyebrows furrowed as he glared at his nearly-empty glass.

"What was?"

"Did you hear him? We haven't seen him in weeks and the first thing he tells us is a story about Hermione. I live with Hermione, I hear her stories, I know all about them. We don't need to hear about her when we're asking about him," scoffed George as he finished off his Firewhiskey.

Lee opened his mouth, as if to say something, and decided against it. He rested his chin on his fist, his index finger pressed tightly against his lips, as if physically holding the words he desperately longed to say to his poor, blind, and unintentionally hypocritical friend. A smile tugged on the corners of his lips. He couldn't help it – this was just such an odd situation.

"I mean, really, they've been dating for all of three weeks and all he can talk about is her. He's so clearly whipped." George snorted derisively. "And, honestly, if you're going to tell someone else's story, at least tell it correctly."

"Yeah," said Lee carefully, laughter curling the edges of his words. "Whipped. Hermione definitely has someone whipped. I completely agree. _Well and truly whipped._ "

He coughed to cover his laugher, but George was busy tearing up his cocktail napkin into subconsciously-sexually-and-romantically-frustrated little pieces, or at least Lee assumed that was why. He smiled at Oliver, who had just rejoined them and was resting three glasses of whiskey on the table.

This was certainly an interesting situation.

 

 

"—And that's why I think you need to be careful of cribblysnooks when weeding hydrangeas."

Hermione, Ginny, Harry, and Ron all looked across Grimmauld Place's sitting room at each other with equally amused yet mystified expressions.

"That is definitely a good point," said Harry to Luna, who smiled in response and moved to take another sip of her tea.

"So, Hermione, how are you and Oliver doing?" asked Ginny.

"And that's our cue to leave," said Ron quickly.

Harry nodded and they both stood up, saying quick goodbyes before heading out of the room and no doubt into the kitchen for leftovers from dinner. Ginny grinned before turning her attention back to Hermione.

"Everything's fine. We've been dating three weeks now, you know. It's been lovely. He's so sweet and attentive. I never would have figured that, what with his attitude on the pitch. He's just wonderful," Hermione said, smiling and blushing happily.

"That is so nice. I'm so glad you're in a happy relationship now. You needed one after that horrid Malcom," said Ginny. She passed Hermione a plate of biscuits Mrs. Weasley had made, who took one before passing it to Luna and continuing to speak.

"You know, the sweetest thing happened the other day. I came home from work a bit later than usual and I walked in and the apartment was all quiet. I thought I was alone, so I went to my room and changed. I left the door open, so thankfully no one walked in, but regardless…err, where was I? Oh yes. I went into George's room – I can't remember why though – and I – oh I remember now, I went in looking to steal one of George's sweaters because they're larger and warmer than mine – and I saw George fast asleep on his bed. Balthazar has calmed down now that he's one year old, and he doesn't bother George as much anymore. Well, Zar was curled up on George's chest, and George's hand was resting near his back, like he had been petting him when he had fallen asleep. Isn't that the sweetest?"

Ginny made a girly _awwww_ noise and scrunched her nose up in pleasure.

"That is precious!" squealed Ginny.

"Are you in love with George?" asked Luna

Hermione's and Ginny's heads spun towards Luna, who was sitting on the end of the couch and watching the fire crackling in the grate.

"What?" Hermione laughed.

"You seem like you're in love with George," Luna replied.

"You mean Oliver," said Ginny.

"No, I mean George," said Luna, turning to look directly at them.

"Where in the name of Merlin do you get an idea like that?" asked Hermione, terribly confused.

"Well, you're always talking about him, you constantly bring him up in conversation, and you smile whenever you talk about him," said Luna, who looked surprised that she had to explain at all.

"Well of course she talks about him. They're roommates and he's my brother, we want to hear about him, just to check up on him. You're just making this stuff up, Luna," scoffed Ginny.

"I never make things up," said Luna matter-of-factly.

Hermione and Ginny exchanged glances.

"Well, I can assure you, Luna, I am not in love with George Weasley," said Hermione with a smile.


	26. Chapter 26

_  
A flash of brown eyes. A brush of lips against the shell of his ear. Dark curls tickling his bare skin. Teeth biting onto his clavicle. Whispers and moans._

_"George!"_

George slowly blinked and looked around his bedroom, frustrated. This should have stopped. This should have been gone and done with by now. He groans and flipped over onto his stomach. Lee had said the dreams were only because he was in the middle of a dry spell, and George thought he had been right. The dreams hadn't completely stopped while he was dating Evangeline, but they had been far less frequent, only happening maybe once every week or so. Since the breakup, they had slowly been making more of an appearance in his nighttime wanderings. Worse yet, they seemed to always interrupt his usual dreamlike dreams, the ones where everyone was green, and dogs flew, and cats swam, and people talked backwards; the dreams that were clearly dreams. His dreams about Hermione were shockingly realistic. Well, except that the dirty, unspeakable, and absolutely wonderful things that happened in them would never happen in real life. This was Hermione, after all, and she had been saying unequivocally from the beginning that she was not attracted to him.

It wasn't like he wanted her to be attracted to him. Yes, it was odd that she seemed to be the one woman on the planet that always turned down his (fake) proposals for a relationship, never ceasing to laugh in his face at the (joking) possibility of them somehow being involved. He had made the jokes from the moment they started living together and she had always rebutted with a snarky comment. He knew that dagger of a tongue could slice him to pieces in an instant, but it was far more fun sparring with her than any playful flirting he usually did with other women.

But these dreams? These never ceasing, ridiculously realistic dreams plagued him every night, making him painfully aware of their presence in the morning? They needed to stop.

He shook himself and got up out of bed, glancing at his clock as he did so. 6:30am. It was earlier than he usually got up, but he really needed to go relieve himself. He opened the door quietly and was about to poke his head out to see if the hallway was clear, when he heard another door open. He pulled his head back into the darkness of his room, his door still cracked open. Light poured into the hallway for just a moment before going out, and soft, padding footsteps started approaching. He wasn't sure why, but he held his breath, not wanting to alert Hermione that he was accidentally cutting into her private morning time. She tiptoed down the hall, one hand holding the towel wrapped around her, the other running through her long, wet hair that looked almost black. As she walked past his room, the towel moved, and the two ends seemed to separate, giving George a full view of one of her pale, sylphlike legs that seemed to glow with the faint morning light that was slowly seeping in through the high windows. She quickly adjusted the towel more tightly around her and continued to her room, her door closing quietly behind her, completely oblivious to the audience of one that was now restraining from banging his head against his wall.

This was really not helping his situation.

George made sure Hermione was definitely in her room before he silently rushed into the bathroom and turned on the shower, desperately and fruitlessly wishing that he could wash away the inappropriate thoughts and feelings his flatmate and friend seemed to be inspiring in him.

 

 

"Bugger."

"And same to you," said Lee with a grin as he looked over at his business partner.

"Oh I can't believe this!" George muttered under his breath as he rifled through his papers on his desk in the back room of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes.

"What is it?"

George looked up at Lee and frowned.

"You don't have the invoice files, do you?" he asked, his brow furrowed.

"Yes, it's here in my back pocket," said Lee sarcastically. "No, of course not. You always have those. What, you lost it?"

"I didn't lose it," said George as he continued to search around the small room.

"You lost it! How could you have lost it?"

"I didn't lose it, Lee!"

Lee frowned and paced the room.

"Alright, well, when did you work with them last?" he asked George.

George thought for a moment and then groaned. He sunk down into his mahogany chair and rubbed his face with his palms.

"What?" asked Lee.

"It's upstairs," groaned George.

"So? Go get it."

"I can't."

"You can't go into your flat and get it?" Lee asked quizzically.

"I promised Hermione I'd stay out tonight."

"Why?"

George sighed.

"She's having some big night with Oliver or something, I dunno. She's making him dinner and such," said George wearily.

"Oh, she's _making him dinner_ ," said Lee with a naughty grin and a wink.

"No, it's not like that," said George quickly.

"She kicked you out of the house, mate. So she and her boyfriend can have special alone time. It's totally like that."

"This is Hermione we're talking about. That's not happening. And that's not how she'd do it, either," said George with a roll of his eyes.

Lee's grin widened, his teeth glinting in the light.

"Don't. Don't, I—"

"Oh really, George. So you've given some thought as to how she would bring about the big event. Please. Share with the class," said Lee, a falsely-innocent tone to his voice.

"I have not been thinking about—"

"Been having more of those naughty dreams lately, Georgie-boy?" asked Lee, practically bouncing up and down with amusement.

"No, it's just—, that's—, SOD YOU, JORDAN!" George shouted feeling flustered and defensive.

"You're blushing. Does our wee Georgie-boy fancy a Miss Hermione?" teased Lee in a babying tone.

"I'm leaving," said George, the back of his neck and his ears burning.

"Where the hell are you going to go?"

"Upstairs. I'll just grab the papers and then head back down and do the paperwork."

"You're going to interrupt?"

George looked at his watch.

"It's hardly six. If he's coming for dinner, I hardly doubt I'm going to be interrupting anything just yet," said George.

"Unless they're quick about it," said Lee with a grin.

George grimaced.

"Don't. Just don't. I'll see you tomorrow, alright?"

"Tomorrow then," said Lee as he pulled his coat off the hooks on the wall. "Try not to be too much of a nuisance to our little lovebirds upstairs."

George gave him a rude hand gesture as they parted, one to the front of the store and one to the back stairwell.

 

 

George knocked lightly on the door before opening it, covering his eyes with his hand as he did so.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry I'm interrupting," he said quickly as he walked through the sitting room towards what he hoped was his bedroom. "I forgot one of my papers up here. I'm sorry! I'll be out in one—" He paused as he heard a sad little sniffle and no sound of Oliver's Scottish brogue. He turned towards the source of the noise and peeked through his fingers. Hermione was sitting on the couch, dressed in the loose clothing she always threw on for lazy weekends or when she was sick, hugging a pillow to her chest and looking at him with very surprised and rather red eyes.

"Hermione? What happened? Where's Oliver?" he asked worriedly.

"Something came up with the team and he had to cancel," she said with a little smile that was convincing no one.

"Oh," George breathed as he walked towards her. "I'm so sorry, 'Mione," he said softly as he sat down on the couch next to her and wrapped his arm around her shoulders.

"It's silly," she sniffled, "getting this upset about it. I mean, he did say his Quidditch takes up a lot of his time. And it's not like tonight was incredibly important, or anything." George's eyebrows rose slightly, but he said nothing, continuing to rub her shoulder soothingly with his hand. "We've only been dating two months, so I shouldn't be so upset about it. It's stupid," she said, still mumbling between dabs to her eyes and nose.

"It's not stupid," said George quietly.

"It just hurts, you know?" said Hermione, definitely half-crying now as her voice ratcheted up at least an octave. "I mean, I went to all this trouble. I even left work early to make this nice dinner, and I put all this work into it, and then he lets me know an hour before he's supposed to be here? Couldn't he have given me more warning? I went to all this work! I was having such a bloody awful day and I just wanted to see him and have a nice evening and it's just not fair." Hermione dissolved into tears and George hugged her close, her body curled up against his as he rubbed his back and rested his cheek on the top of her head.

"It's just stupid," Hermione said, though the words were muffled against his chest, which was progressively getting damper as the moments passed.

"It's not stupid," said George quietly as he rubbed slow circles on the back of her neck with his thumb. "It was too much to deal with and all you wanted was some nice time together after a hard day. And he should have let you know earlier. I'm sure he didn't mean to upset you. It's all going to be okay, alright, 'Mione?"

"I must be a terrible girlfriend, getting all upset over such a silly thing," Hermione said in a sad little voice as she finally looked up at him.

"Anyone would be lucky to have you in their life, Hermione, especially as a girlfriend," said George resolutely as he looked down at her red and tear-streaked face. "And trust me, you're not a terrible girlfriend until you turn into a psycho and demand to move in after three months."

Hermione gave a watery laugh.

"Three and a half," she amended.

George looked at her oddly, but she didn't seem to think that she had said anything odd. He frowned for a second, trying to think about what would make her feel better.

"Hermione," he asked carefully, "I know I'm no Oliver, but would you like to have dinner with me?"

She smiled up at him and hugged him, even though they were still holding each other.

"I'd love that, George."


	27. Chapter 27

They had been having a lovely evening. Hermione had made a hearty beef stew she had loved when she had visited France, and they had been at the table for what seemed like hours. They had been having so much fun, not having had much time lately to actually sit down and talk to each other about their lives, that they hadn't noticed the time fly by or the wine bottles empty. Finally, after eating through a good half of the dessert (an apple tart Hermione had also favored on her trips to France) and knowing they would regret that in a few hours, they retired to the couch, woozy and in good spirits.

George laughed as Hermione told a story about some stupid old coot at the Ministry being caught with his trousers down in the loo, and how his wife had stormed into Hermione's office and demanded that she actually _print_ the story, shouting that _everyone needs to know what kind of person he is_ , and _that trollop better be in the story too, full name and the lot!_ George wrapped his arm tightly around Hermione's shoulders as she imitated the woman's high screechy voice, although it kept dropping lower as she laughed.

Hermione finished and rested her head against his shoulder, tilting her head up to smile at him. They just looked at each other, George smiling at her, at the comfort that had filled this whole night. Her warm breath on his neck, the pleasant drowsiness the wine had given him, her soft hair cloaking his arm. She moved her head back a little, tilting her face up more towards him as she gave him a soft, slow smile. Her hand rested on his leg and his on hers. There wasn't any room in his mind for thoughts, for contemplation of right and wrong, of opportunity and motive; there was only a warm, light feeling that made him think that everything was not only possible, but brilliant. He started to slowly move forward and he saw her eyelids start to flutter closed. He was less than a centimeter away, their lips about to brush, when he heard the handle turn in their creaky door.

Hermione shifted in his arms and George turned his head. A man walked in the door and Hermione jumped out of George's arms with a happy squeal.

"Oliver!"

Oliver looked up from where he had dropped his bag and smiled before a shocked expression appeared as Hermione ran forward and threw her arms around his neck, planting a huge kiss on his lips. Surprised but obviously pleased, Oliver kissed back, his arms wrapped tight around his girlfriend's waist. On the couch, George squeezed his eyes shut and cursed under his breath. He didn't know who he was more upset at, himself for almost kissing his mate's girlfriend, or Oliver for preventing him from doing just that.

"You're here!" Hermione babbled happily, her arms still tight around Oliver. Thankfully, the snogging seemed to be finished, for now. "I thought you had that press conference you had to be at."

"I did," said Oliver, "but I left as soon as all the interviews and pictures were done. The team went out for drinks, but I said I had to get home to my girlfriend."

Hermione beamed and kissed him, if possible, more passionately than the first time. Oliver kissed her back, but broke it off, much to George's pleasure.

"Have you been drinking, love?" asked Oliver warily.

"Jus' a little bit," said Hermione with a giggle.

Oliver finally looked over at George, and George was both pleased and, oddly, a little frustrated to see there was no hint of suspicion in his gaze, just innocent curiosity mixed with humor. They nodded slightly in hello to each other, George trying to keep his emotions off his face.

"How much has she had to drink?"

"At least a bottle of wine," said George.

Oliver stared at him. He blinked. "Hermione drank a whole bottle of wine?"

"At least."

"Blimey," said Oliver, looking back at his girlfriend, who was still happily draped on his chest. "We need to get you into bed then, love."

"Is that a proposition?" giggled Hermione, a mischievous smile playing on her lips.

Oliver chuckled. "Not when you're drunk enough that you might not remember it. C'mon."

With that, he unwound her arms from around him and turned her around, towards her bedroom. She took a few steps and wobbled. He caught her and shot a bemused glance at George, who grinned back, wishing he didn't wish Oliver wasn't there, being the good guy. Oliver shook his head and scooped Hermione up as if she weighed nothing, rolling his eyes in amusement as Hermione burst into raucous laughter and buried her face in his shoulder. He carried her into her bedroom, the door shutting halfway behind him.

George slammed his head back against the top of the couch and groaned. What bloody hell had he just done? He knew he had drunk quite a bit, but he was nowhere near how tipsy Hermione was. He knew how to hold his liquor, which seemed to make what had almost happened even worse, because he was far more in control of himself than she was. He knew he should be glad Oliver walked in when he did, the quintessential good boyfriend, to interrupt before his girlfriend cheated on him with their best friend. He should be glad that Oliver had refused Hermione and went to take care of her instead. He should be glad that her lips had never met George's, and that that one kiss hadn't led to inevitable further actions that she hadn't even gotten to with her own boyfriend.

He should be glad. But he sure as hell wasn't.

He was royally pissed.

Oliver walked out from Hermione's bedroom, adjusting his cloak, which was askew, as if someone had grabbed it, pulled him forward, and snogged him heartily. He ran a hand through his newly-mussed hair and sat down in the armchair across from George. He grinned and looked around.

"Well, now we know what kind of drunk Hermione is – she's randy!" laughed Oliver. George laughed, but was cursing internally. "So, how was dinner? I'm sorry I missed it. It seems like it was eventful, what with getting Hermione to actually drink, and whatnot."

"It was delicious," said George. "You can probably steal some of the leftovers, though. And yeah, we ended up talking for a long time. Didn't realize how much we had drunk."

"Apparently, our Hermione can't handle her alcohol," Oliver laughed. George tried not to cringe at how accurate that our really was.

"I can tell why she doesn't usually drink. So, how was the press conference?"

It was several hours later when George was just about to get into bed, having just pulled on his pajama trousers and pulled off his shirt, when there was a slight tap on his door. He turned, his brow furrowed in confusion, and pulled open the door. Hermione stood in his doorway, slightly hunched over, in one of his old WWW shirts and some trousers, clutching her stomach and looking queasy. She swayed slightly, still clearly drunk.

"George?" she asked in a small voice.

"You feeling ill?" he asked softly. She nodded sadly, and George immediately pictured a little Hermione, all bushy curls and buck-teeth, clutching a teddy bear and telling her parents she was sick. It was such a sweet image and he immediately wanted to hug her, so small in her oversized pajamas. "Go get into bed. I'll be right there." She nodded again and padded slowly back to her room.

George headed to the bathroom, pulled out the right potion, and grabbed a glass of water before he headed into her room. She was curled up on her side, clutching her pillow and looking a little green in the moonlight fighting its way through the gaps in her curtains. She sat up and drank the potion, making a face before downing the entire glass of water. She immediately started to look better and he was starting to leave when he heard behind him a soft Stay. He turned and her wide, sad eyes begged him silently. He sighed and laid under the covers she had thrown back next to her, his torso partly propped up by her array of pillows. She wiggled over and rested her head on his chest as she clutched her stomach, still waiting for the nausea to go away. He rubbed circles on her back and held her close, wondering how he was going to explain this in the morning, or if she'd even remember.

.

.

.

"So, how was last night?" asked Lee as he moved about the shop, checking the shelves and waving his wand silently, products soaring around him, restocking themselves.

"Oliver didn't show." Lee turned and looked at George, confused. "I mean, he showed, like four hours late. But I got up there and 'Mione was just crying on the couch. He had a press conference at the last minute or something."

"Well, then what happened?"

"I stayed with her. And she cried a lot and then we had dinner–" Lee's eyebrows raised. "– and talked and we ended up going through two bottles of wine, most of which she drank– "

"I'm sorry, what? Hermione finally got drunk and you tell me a day later? Some friend you are!" huffed Lee. "You know Ginny, Ron and I have bets about what kind of drunk she is!"

"Forgive me," said George sardonically. "I was too busy dealing with it to owl you."

"So?"

"So we...we almost kissed–" Lee grinned in a self-satisfied way but said nothing. "–and Oliver walks in and interrupts it, and she hauls off and plants one on him and then proceeded to proposition him."

"I knew it!" shouted Lee gleefully. "I knew all that pent up energy would come out some way! I knew it! Just like I knew about the dreams!"

George rolled his eyes and continued fixing the more battered boxes of Skiving Snackboxes. "You shouldn't be happy about this, Jordan. You should be telling me I'm a horrible person."

"Why?" asked Lee. "Oh, the whole _She's dating Oliver and he's our best mate thing._ Oh, sorry." He frowned hard at George and shook his finger like a chastising school marm. "You, George Weasley, are a terrible person. You should not go about snogging other bloke's girls. How dare you!" He paused. "Is that better?"

George smiled wanly and sat down on the counter. "I mean, what was I thinking, Lee?" he said, frustrated. Lee was suddenly and strangely reticent as he picked up his broom and started examining the end of it for bent twigs. George sighed and buried his face in his hands. He said something muffled, that came out like _ifikifcanyhmnmneey_. Lee still said nothing. George sighed again and finally looked up at Lee, his jaw set and his eyes troubled. "Lee, I think I fancy Hermione."

Lee snorted and burst into laughter. George looked at him, shocked, but Lee was now clutching his sides and leaning against a display of Disposable Hangman ( _Spell it or he'll swing!_ ).

"What the hell, man?" shouted George.

Lee snorted loudly several times more before he was able to choke out a few words. "Big. Surprise. There."

"What?"

Just then, the floo was heard from the back office, and Harry and Ron walked out into the front of the store, grinning.

"You lot ready for the match?" asked Harry, broom in hand.

Ron's mouth was twisted between a frown and a grin. "What's his problem?" he asked George as he pointed at Lee, who was holding onto his broom for support as he clutched a stitch in his side.

"I don't know but he's being a real tosser," snapped George, fetching his broom from its place by the stairs.

"George just informed me," said Lee in a falsely-shocked voice, "that he thinks he might fancy Hermione. What do you lot say to that?"

Ron started sniggering and Harry rolled his eyes and shook his head, shooting George a pitying look.

"What?!" cried George, completely missing what everyone was on about.

"You're just figuring this out now?" asked Ron. "And you said Percy was the dim one of the family."

"It's really obvious, George," said Harry in amusement.

"What is? That I fancy her? How can it be if I just figured it out?" cried George, thoroughly frustrated now.

"Well, think of it this way, at least you're not the last to know," said Lee with a grin. "Both Hermione and Oliver haven't realized it."

George groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. How long had he been like this? How long had he felt this way about Hermione and didn't realize it, or passed it off as something else? And what the hell was he supposed to do now? If last night's events said anything, hell, if the past year's events were accounted for, there was a good chance that Hermione felt the same way he did.

So now what the bloody hell was he supposed to do?

"So," said Lee, watching him with a kind and knowing expression, "what are you going to do about it?"


	28. Chapter 28

Now that George had consciously realized that he fancied Hermione, it was like the giant skrewt in the room. You really didn't want to look at it or mention it for fear of attracting more attention to it, but it was impossible not to notice its constant, painful presence. He caught himself watching Hermione, laughing at things she said, searching out her presence in a crowded room. Worse yet, he now noticed everyone watching them, watching him mentally catalogue where she was, what she was doing, how she was feeling. Worst of all were the sympathetic looks his family gave him, the ones that bordered on pitying and clearly said _You poor poor thing, filled with unrequited love. Let me hug you and make it better_. He couldn't stand it.

He felt like he was a part of a sick game, or one of those crap shows Hermione had shown him on the telly where people lived their lives while someone followed them around, recording their every move. Hermione watched everyone, seemingly oblivious to the agonizing frustration being battled with around her; Oliver watched Hermione; George watched Hermione, watched how she seemed to light up when Oliver slung his arm around her shoulder or kissed her cheek in passing; the rest of the family watched the love triangle. George wouldn't be surprised if they had bets going like they had when he and Hermione had first moved in together.

It was about a week after The Almost Night, as George had named it in his head, that he started noticing Oliver's gaze straying from Hermione. George would be at the table for Sunday dinner, talking to Ron or Harry, when his eyes would track over to check on Hermione. There would be an overwhelming sense of being watched, and George would glance around to find Oliver watching him, his expression somewhere between curious and falsely impassive. George, feeling guilty, would look away and resume his conversation, but would feel Oliver watching him. He hoped it would all blow over, and he could just pass off his constant glances and attention as just being a friend, but somehow he didn't think it was possible. So, when he walked into his apartment after closing the shop early due to a nasty storm and saw Oliver sitting on the couch, seemingly waiting for someone, he immediately assumed the worst.

George hitched on an easy grin and nodded his greeting. "What are you doin' here, mate? 'Mione shouldn't be home for another couple of hours," said George as he grabbed a glass from the cabinet and poured himself some water from the tap. His mouth was suddenly very dry.

"I know," said Oliver with a small smile. "I actually needed to talk to you and I didn't want her to be around when I did."

George was positive that his stomach had now been replaced with lead and his throat with the Sahara Desert. He was fucked. He knew it. He was a goner.

"Oh yeah?" he said lightly. "About what?" He headed over to the armchair that faced the couch and arranged his face into a carefree grin.

"How long have you fancied Hermione?" asked Oliver bluntly.

George choked on some air and coughed loudly. He looked up at Oliver, his eyes streaming and wheezed, "Come again?"

"C'mon mate," said Oliver calmly. "Just your reaction was telltale enough. How long?" He watched George, who stared right back and realized that, Hermione or not, this was one of his best friends, and he couldn't lie to him.

"I dunno," George said quietly. "I realized it about a week or so ago, but everyone's been telling me I've been like this for months and months and I just hadn't noticed. I think…I think it started when I took her to the Minister's Ball. She had just broken up with that complete wanker who was so awful to her and she needed someone to act as her boyfriend so some sleazeball at work would stop hitting on her. I just-, I dunno, I suppose I liked how it felt. It felt right. But then I met Evangeline and it all kind of faded away. I thought it was probably just in the moment or something, you know?" Oliver nodded sympathetically, a pensive expression on his face, as George spilled his soul. "But I couldn't help always comparing them in my mind. And I dunno. Hermione. She just. She was always there, through everything, and I just kept coming back to her." George paused and took a deep breath, steeling himself for what he was going to say next, what he had to say.

"Look, Wood, I'm so sorry. I know she's one of my best mates, and all, but she's your girlfriend. I know I need to just back off or something. I don't really mean to be like this. I just barely noticed what I'm like when I'm around her. I'm sorry. I don't mean to be there. I don't want to-, to steal her away or anything. You two are happy and–"

"Bollocks," said Oliver with a small, sad smile.

"What?" stuttered George, shocked. "You two aren't hap–"

"Oh we are," said Oliver quickly. "Being with Hermione is wonderful. Some days, it just feels like it's fake or something. She's so real and full of life and passion and I just love every minute I get to spend with her."

"Then wha–"

"I know it's bollocks that you don't want to steal her away from me. Because you do. I've seen you, George. I've seen the way you look at her."

George paled. He would have preferred Oliver just punch him hard in a jealous rage than sit here calmly, talking to him like a civilized adult. This was a thousand times more painful than any physical blow could be.

"I'm so sorry, Oliver. I'll move out or something. I don't want this to ruin our friendship or your relationship with Hermione. I'll just–" George started to stand but Oliver shot out a hand and halted him.

"You're not going anywhere," said Oliver. "You don't have to. And you'll always be one of my best mates. But something has got to change." George started to talk again, but Oliver cut him off, standing and pacing in front of the couch as he did so. "Hermione's amazing. I never would have thought it, and if you had told me when we were in school if I would one day date her, I would have laughed rudely in your face and probably told you to piss off and take the mickey out on someone else." George smiled slightly, knowing exactly how Oliver felt. "But she's fun and passionate and far too smart for her own good, and she deserves the best."

George was sure this was the moment where the final verdict, the _back the fuck off my girlfriend_ moment was going to drop. He could feel the muscles in his whole upper body tensing, as if readying itself to ward off the painful blow.

"Which is why I am going to break up with her," finished Oliver.

"What?" ejaculated George, sure he had something in his ear that had made that sentence come out all wrong. "You're going to what?"

"I'm going to break up with her," said Oliver sadly. "I don't want to. I desperately want to cling onto her and throw a few punches at you and tell you to piss off and date some other blonde shrew, but I know I can't. For everyone's sake." Oliver carded his fingers through his short brown hair as he stared at George, his entire body sagging with the weight of what he had decided to do.

"Why the bloody hell are you going to do that?" shouted George. "You just said you are happy together and you love every minute and all that crap?"

Oliver smiled sadly at George as he rubbed the back of his neck, the corners of his mouth tugging down as if pulled by invisible marionette strings. "Because I can't, in good conscience, keep dating a girl I fancy if I know for a fact that there's someone else that loves her. And I know she loves you too. And I'll be damned if I'm going to stand by and be the consolation prize while I watch the two of you stupidly avoiding what everyone, including me now, has figured out before you."

George sat, stunned. He couldn't think of a single thing to say. The words _someone else that loves her_ and _she loves you too_ kept floating around his head, making his vision blur and his hearing seem like everything was happening underwater.

Oliver had stopped pacing and now strode over until he was right in front of George. He glared down at him and pointed his finger right in George's face. George had to resist the urge to go cross-eyed. "I need to make one thing clear, Weasley," he said, his voice menacingly low and deadly. "You fuck this up, you make her unhappy, and I will make your life a living hell. Because I am positive that, given the time you two had before I came into the picture, I would have fallen in love with her too. Maybe even more deeply than you have. So you fuck this up, Weasley, and you'll forget you ever thought I was the nice guy."

George swallowed and slowly stood to face Oliver, the tension and power play of the captain and player suddenly back between them, and they watched each other for a moment in silence. "You'd do that for her?" asked George carefully.

Oliver nodded. George considered him for a moment before he stuck out his hand. Oliver glared at him for a moment before he stuck out his hand and shook George's firmly. When they released, the tension seemed to drain slowly from the room. Oliver strode over to the fireplace and picked up a pinch of Floo Powder.

"When are you going to do it?" George blurted out.

Oliver turned and looked at George, a haunted look in his eyes, the look of a man going against everything he wanted in the world in order to make a sacrifice for the greater good. He gave a small smile that was more of a grimace. "You'll know," he said quietly. And with a throw, a shout, and a puff of green smoke, Oliver was gone.


	29. Chapter 29

A gentle tapping came from the window behind Hermione's desk. She turned and saw a familiar owl fluttering, a note clamped in his beak. She stood up from her chair and let the owl in. He fluttered to her desk, dropped the note, and began to preen himself, proud of his having completed his task. Hermione resumed her seat and opened the letter.

 

Mione, 

Would you like to come over to my place for dinner tonight? I'll even try to cook if you'd like.

Love,

Oliver

 

Hermione smiled to herself. She checked her daily planner and then took a small blank card from her desk and wrote:

 

Oliver, 

I'd love to come over. I'll be done here about five and then I'll be there. And for the love of Merlin, do not cook. Last time was enough of a fiasco. Just order something and we can eat right out of the containers like the brutes we are.

Love,

Hermione

 

She nodded at her letter in approval and gave it to Oliver's owl, who clamped it in his beak and flew out the still-open window. She shut it behind him and sat back down to finish her work, humming as she checked the clock, counting down the hours until she got to see her boyfriend.

 

 

Hermione stepped through the fireplace and was immediately swept up in Oliver's arms as he planted a huge kiss on her lips. She giggled in surprise but reciprocated. After a minute or so, they broke apart and she eyed him suspiciously, one eyebrow raised.

"What was that for?" she asked.

He smiled at her. "I just wanted to kiss you," Oliver replied.

"Well, it was very nice," she said, smiling back. "So, what are we having for dinner?" Hermione walked through his living room and into his small kitchen. Hermione had constantly teased him when she had first come over to his house and seen how minimalistic his kitchen was and how full his drawer of take-out menus was. Granted, it was all rather healthy take-out food – he was a professional athlete after all - but nonetheless, it was both hilarious and appalling to someone who loved to cook. There on the counter were several white paper boxes, visibly steaming and full to bursting.

"I got your favorite," said Oliver, walking up behind her and wrapping his arms around her waist as he did often, something Hermione thought was adorable and comforting.

"You got the Chinese food that absolutely delicious and horribly bad for us?"

She could feel as well as hear Oliver chuckle behind her. "Yes, yes I did."

Hermione smiled brightly and moved forward, opening the packages and happily looking into each one. All of her favorite dishes were here. And he had even gotten her extra fortune cookies, which she loved, despite how often he teased her for them being "hokey." She closed her eyes and breathed in the wonderful smells now mingling together in the kitchen. She opened her eyes and looked over. Oliver was watching her, a small sad smile tugging down the corners of his lips, one hand rubbing the back of his neck, something she knew both he and George did when they were nervous or upset.

"Oliver, is everything okay?" she asked softly.

He seemed to rouse himself. He smiled at her and moved forward, as if everything was more than fine. She saw that the smile didn't completely extend to his eyes, but he moved forward and bumped her with his hip, cutting in front of her for the food. She laughed and shoved him back, all thoughts of his sad eyes forgotten as they laughed and fought over the food.

 

 

It was a few hours later, after they had eaten, snogged, and cuddled for a while, that Oliver started acting a little restless. He started out just a little twitchy, but it finally got to a point that Hermione sat up from where she'd been resting against his chest and turned to face him, crosslegged on one end of the couch. Oliver sat on the other end, looking nervous although he was clearly trying not to.

"Alright, you've been at this for an hour now. What's wrong?" He shrugged, as if to say _Nothing_ but she frowned at him. "Oliver Wood, what is so upsetting that you have taken up several fidgety ticks?"

Oliver sighed and sat up straight, his back against the arm of the chair, almost mirroring Hermione's position. "God, I don't want to do this," he mumbled into his hands as he rubbed his face with his palms.

"Don't want to do what?" she asked, curious and slightly worried now.

Oliver looked up at Hermione and, as one pair of brown eyes met the other, Hermione saw Oliver steel himself. She tilted her head, confused, but stayed silent, understanding that Oliver had a hard time expressing himself when he was upset.

"Okay, I don't want to do this, but I think the most logical way is to just start. In the most logical way I can. Because you're logical, and you work from reason and logic," he said, clearly fighting to get the words out.

"You know you've said 'logic' four times, right?" Hermione said with a grin.

A smile pulled at Oliver's stern, straight mouth and he sighed. "Stop being 'Hermione' for a second; you're making this more difficult," he said, half-joking, half-sadly.

Hermione smiled, knowing what he meant – he would always tease her and say she was being 'Hermione' any time she did something that was like how she acted in her early years at Hogwarts – but she could tell this was a serious topic. She didn't know when she had started trying to lighten moods in serious situations. She had never done that before. She had probably picked it up from George.

"Okay. Um. Well, let me start like this: I never would have thought I would be dating Hermione Granger. If you had told me I would when we were at Hogwarts, I would have probably laughed my arse off."

Hermione grinned. "And I would have scoffed. Me dating that overly-zealous Quidditch player who drove my friend into the ground with training?"

Oliver grinned back. "Yeah. Exactly. And this-, dating you has showed me that the most unlikely people are sometimes perfect for each other." He took a deep breath and his mouth immediately turned down, his brow furrowing as he pushed out the next words, each more halting than the last. "And I think you're pretty close to perfect. But I. I don't think I'm perfect for you."

There was a pause as Oliver's words sunk in. Hermione was positive this was a breakup, but she wasn't really sure where he was going with it. She felt her heart start to beat faster as her nose started to tingle and her eyes started to prickle, warning of oncoming tears. She cleared her throat. He was right; she was logical, and she had to wait to see what he had to say before she let her emotions get the best of her.

"I think I'm pretty damn close," Oliver continued, pursing his lips together. He seemed to be fighting with keeping his emotions in check as well. "But I know for a fact that there's someone a little more perfect for you than me. And I. I don't th-. Shite." He rubbed his face again with his palms. "I care about you so much, Hermione. I do. And I'm absolutely positive that I could fall in love with you."

Hermione's breath hitched as he spoke. It was useless now, the tears were flowing freely and no amount of will could make them stop. She smiled sadly and reached forward, taking his hands in hers. He looked up at her and she could see his eyes were shining. He bit the inside of his cheek, and she knew he was doing everything in his power not to let the tears fall. He hated showing weakness, something she had found stupidly masculine and yet endearing, as he had broken down around her only once before. He squeezed her hands and took a deep, shuddering breath.

"I honestly believe that," he said, his voice wavering slightly. "But there's someone that's madly in love with you and wouldn't do a damn thing about it because he would rather you just be happy, even if it's not with him." Hermione frowned in confusion and opened her mouth to ask, but he continued, his eyes squeezed shut as he spoke, as if the words were causing him physical pain. "And…and I know you love him too. I know you do. Even if you two are just too stupid to see it, everyone else has. I have. And. Shite. This is stupid. I."

He opened his eyes and Hermione, whose tears had stopped in the wake of what he had been saying, restarted as she saw the unmistakable and unbearable pain that was evident in every line of his face.

"I don't want to do this. You have to believe me, I don't want to."

"Then don't," Hermione whispered, already knowing the response.

"I have to," he cried, anguished. "Can't you see? I have to do this. For both of us. Merlin, Hermione, I would love to tell every other man to fuck off and keep you all for myself and fall madly in love with you and never care about anyone else's feelings. I would. But I know I can't. I can't do that to any of us. Because I know you'd always love him, just under the surface, the entire time. You'd go on like this, being completely oblivious to what everyone else has seen for months, what I didn't want to see, what I tried to ignore. But I can't be the consolation prize, Hermione. I just can't. I know you wouldn't see it that way, but I'd always feel like that. And it would ruin him and maybe even ruin you. It would absolutely gut me."

Hermione couldn't take it anymore. "WHO?" she cried, not bothering to wipe the tears that were racing down her cheeks and dripping off her jaw. "Who am I supposedly in love with? I don't understand what you're saying! I'm not in love with someone else, Oliver!"

Oliver shook his head. He reached out and took her hands again, holding them tightly in his own. "Hermione, could you honestly look me in the eyes and tell me you love me and mean it?"

"Yes," said Hermione immediately.

Oliver grimaced. "But that's not true. I swear to you it's not. You think you can but you can't."

Hermione straightened her back, unwilling to back down. "Oliver," she said resolutely, "I love–"

She faltered. She knew what she was supposed to say. It was a common word, said thousands of times a day. You. Three simple letters. One syllable. It shouldn't be difficult. And yet she couldn't get the words out. As she looked at Oliver, she saw Malcolm, who was horrid to her and made her feel worthless. She saw George pinning Malcolm against the wall, his feet dangling a foot in the air as George gave him a murderous glare. She saw George after her breakup, taking two days off of work just to stay home and make sure she was still eating and visiting the rest of the house. She saw Evangeline on the first day they met, her eyes sparkling and her hand holding George's arm possessively. She saw Oliver kissing her against the door of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. She saw George, watching her from across the dinner table at the Burrow. She saw that night, that moment they almost kissed. She saw how broken he looked when she turned her head from hugging Oliver hello.

She blinked. Oliver sat in front of her, watching her, his expression devastated but understanding. Realization hit her, as visceral as a stunning spell. She took a shuddering breath that came out as a loud sob. She quickly covered her mouth with her hand, which she realized was shaking slightly.

"Oh god," she whispered, her voice refusing to operate at its normal level. "Oh god, Oliver, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry."

She moved forward on the couch, into Oliver's lap as she buried her face in his neck. His arms wrapped around her, warm and strong. He leaned his head down, his face buried in her hair. She wasn't sure if the shaking she felt was from her chest or his, but she held him tight as she cried, broken sobs escaping from her, leaving her throat raw and her chest heaving, short on oxygen. Oliver held her tight against him, his breathing uneven and labored as he tried to hold it together. She sat up, looking him in the eyes as she tried to find the right words to say.

"You are no consolation prize, Oliver. You need to know that. You were never anything but first prize." He gave her a watery smile. "And I'm sure I could have fallen in love with you too if–" She faltered but he nodded.

"If you hadn't fallen in love with him first," he finished with a small hollow laugh.

"Yeah," she said with a sad smile. "Oh Oliver, I'm so sorry."

"I know," he said, gently tucking her hair behind her ear. "I am too."

"Can I tell you that you were the best boyfriend I ever had…and probably will ever have?" she said, smiling.

He laughed. "I'll believe that."

She laughed as well. "I'm very jealous of whoever is lucky enough to call you their husband one day," she said quietly.

"Probably about as jealous as I am of him. But we're logical people who do things logically, eh?"

They both laughed again. Hermione wiped her runny nose and coughed slightly. She was getting a headache from all this crying.

"So this is it," she said quietly.

"Yeah," he said, his expression solemn once more.

They just looked at each other in silence. Hermione moved forward and wrapped her arms around Oliver once again, and he held her tightly, although they could both feel that it was different this time. She laid her forehead against the crook of his neck, and he rested his cheek against her curls. She tilted her head and gave him a soft kiss on the neck. She could feel him smile.

"Oliver?" she said quietly.

"Yeah?"

"Thank you. For everything."

"I'd do it all again for you, Hermione Granger," he said softly as he stroked her hair.

"I know. And I think a part of me will always love you for that."

"That's all I could ask for."


	30. Chapter 30

"Bye."

"Bye."

Hermione watched as Oliver shut the door in front of her. She looked at it for a moment, unsure of what to do, before she turned around and headed down the building's stairs. She stepped out the front door. The brisk night air rushed around her, tossing her hair and slipping in through the openings of her coat, making her shiver. She looked around, and saw an empty bench in the park across the street. She and Oliver had sat there many times, sometimes for a picnic, sometimes just for some fresh air. She quickly crossed the empty street and sat down, her body giving a little shudder as the icy iron froze her legs through her trousers. She put a warming spell on herself and, after a look around, put some other protective spells on as well, so no one would notice or bother her. She needed some time alone right now.

As she sat there, slowly warming up and looking out on the dark, sloping outlines of the park and the few visitors still in it, everything seemed to swarm up on her just as it had on Oliver's couch. What was she going to do? What was anyone supposed to do in a situation like this – when your whole worldview, the way you looked at people in your life, the way you looked at yourself, had shifted so utterly in one night? _She could go home._ George's face swam before her eyes and she could feel her eyes start to prickle again despite how puffy and sore they felt. No, going back to the flat was definitely out. She couldn't deal with him so soon after everything. _The Burrow?_ Hermione gave a hollow little chuckle. Dealing with Molly Weasley would be ten times worse than dealing with George. She'd take one look at Hermione's swollen eyes and red nose and immediately start worrying. _Hermione dear, what's wrong? Are you hurt? Was it Oliver? Or was it George? Did you two have a domestic? Here, sit down, I'll make you a cuppa._ And then of course, she would bother Mr. Weasley to somehow fix whatever had happened, or get on a head of steam and go off to seek revenge herself, leaving Hermione with an uncomfortable Mr. Weasley, who'd pat her on the hand awkwardly and say something sweet but unhelpful like _I'm sure it will all sort itself out. These things do happen. Terribly sorry though._

These things didn't 'just happen,' though. How often did your boyfriend break up with you because his best friend was in love with you? Rarely. But how often did he break up with you because he realized you were in love with someone else, even before you did? Hardly ever.

Hermione buried her face in her hands. She heard some drunken singing and looked up, startled. A grubby man started walking towards her, a bottle of some amber liquid "hidden" by a paper sack clutched in his hands. Hermione tensed, silently hoping her precautions would work. The man moved to sit down on the bench, but when he got half a meter away, he muttered something about "need to go see Kenny about that thing" and walked away. Hermione let out her breath and shook her head. Immediately, George's voice popped into her head.

_Yeah, he needs to go see Kenny. Let's hope Kenny is the name of his shower, or at least his toothbrush. That stench would probably make trolls go "Oh Merlin, what is that?" Well, trolls can't talk. So they'd probably go AAAAUUUURRRGGGUUUURRRRRRRAAAAAHHHHH._

Hermione burst into laughter that quickly turned into crying. She couldn't do this. She wanted to be able to handle this rationally, to figure out what the hell to do and then go forth with a numbered list of meticulously thought out steps. She wanted to "Hermione it out," as Oliver would always say. ( _"Did you just turn me into a verb?" she had asked, laughing. "Yes, and it works," Oliver had said. "Don't you think?"_ ) But she couldn't. There was no way of going about this like she would any other problem. She wanted to be able to charge through and make decisions and stake claims, but all she felt like doing was curling up in a ball and crying until she was empty. She brushed her hand across her cheeks in a futile effort to stem the flow of tears. In a sudden flurry of activity, she stood up and spun on the spot, disappearing with a _crack!_

 

She landed on the back porch of the small house. All the lights in the house were off, save for one she could see though the master bedroom's light curtains. She let out a breath of relief and knocked on the back door, just loud enough to be heard without waking anyone else up. She saw the light in the window that was swaying in the air move down and rest, and heard footsteps approaching from inside. Hermione dried her cheeks and put a smile on her face. The door opened and as they locked eyes, Hermione burst into tears again. Arms opened up immediately and Hermione rushed into them without a word.

"Oh sweetheart! Come here. Are you alright? What happened?"

Hermione tucked herself into the embrace, comforted by the familiar sensation of a hand stroking her hair and the smell of lavender. She sobbed, her whole body shaking as she just clung on, desperately needing the contact, the reassurance. The hand on her hair left as she was pulled into the house and the door was shut. The warmth of the house enveloped them, the faint smell of cinnamon and apples floating through the air.

"Shh, it's okay, sweetheart. It'll all be okay."

"C-can I st-stay over?" Hermione gasped out between hiccups from crying.

"Always. As long as you need, darling. How about I make us a cup of tea and I'll get you your favorite blanket and we'll just talk when you're ready. How about that?"

Hermione nodded several times but clung on, hugging as tightly as she could. Hermione knew that sometimes, when everything is going to hell, when your whole life if flipped upside down and you have no idea how to carry on, the best solution is the simplest – sometimes you just need a hug from your mum.

 

"So you're sure you haven't heard from her?"

"I already told you, no. But I'm sure she's fine, wherever she is. She's a big girl, she can handle herself," said Ginny.

"I know she can. That's not my worry. I'm just worried about her. She hadn't gone this long before without letting me know what she's doing or that she's alright." He knew he sounded shaky but at this point he was far past caring.

"George, I'm sure she's fine. And I will let you know if we hear anything. And I'll relay the message to Ron and your parents as well," said Harry in a soothing tone, cutting in before better-half could say anything.

George smiled gratefully. "Thank you so much, Harry. I really appreciate it." Harry nodded and George nodded back before pulling his head out of the flames. He sat back on his heels, worrying the cuticle of his thumb with his teeth, thinking.

If Hermione hadn't contacted her two best friends, he was completely out of ideas of how to find out where she was. It had been three days since he had seen her, and their last meeting had been brief at that. Hermione had passed him as she grabbed some tea to go before she rushed off to work. She had ruffled his hair genially and flashed him a smile and a "G'Morning," before vanishing. Actually, if he counted that first afternoon/evening as a day, they were just going on four days missing. The first night he was thought she was maybe late at work or spending the night over at Oliver's (he desperately hoped it was the former; he was still pretty sure she and Oliver hadn't gone to that step in the relationship yet, but after everything that had happened, he hated the idea of that possibility even more now). But that next day, he had sent an owl to her office that came back with no reply. He had then sent an owl to her assistant, who reported that he hadn't seen her since the night before, when she left a little early. It made George feel slightly better that he was not the only one worried, as Jonathan was now on board trying to find her, as the Prophet's running had fallen on his rather unprepared shoulders in the wake of her absence. He had thought of asking Oliver, but it felt wrong after their last conversation. He felt like he was asking Oliver of too much already without having even asked him to break up the relationship. Butting in when she might just be with him? George just couldn't bring himself to do it. George sank onto the couch, his fingers carding through his hair nervously.

Four days. Four days of no words, no presence, no assurance that she wasn't lying dead in a ditch somewhere. He ignored Ginny's assurance that Hermione could take care of herself. Of course she could, but that didn't stop his mind from playing through all the worst-case-scenarios. Was she hurt? Was her wand broken? Had something _worse_ happened to her? He couldn't even deal with the possibility. It was just too much to allow his mind to focus on, but it prevailed nonetheless, showing him one horrid image after another. He scrubbed his face with his hands, groaning slightly, hoping that if he pressed on his closed eyelids enough, the images would just fade away into blackness filled with brightly colored squiggles and shapes.

He heard the turn of the bolts in the door and the creak of the door opening. Before any coherent thought went though his brain, he was on his feet and across the room. He didn't even look to see if it was actually Hermione; he knew somehow that it would be. She had barely shut the door behind her when he wrapped his arms around her tightly. He could feel the tension in his shoulders warring, not sure whether to loosen because she was finally back or tighten because he still didn't know what was wrong. Hermione stood stiff in his arms for a moment before she relented and hugged him back, her arms looping around his waist, unable to do anything else as he was holding her shoulders so tightly.

"I was so worried," he said, the words tripping over each other, so anxious to get out and express themselves. "Four days. No letter. No news. Four bloody days! I was so worried. What if something had happened to you and you couldn't tell me? Merlin, don't you ever do that again, Granger! Not a word to anyone! What the bloody hell were you thinking? God, don't ever do that again." He held her close to his chest until he felt her start to pull back to talk. They stood a little ways apart, mirroring each other with crossed arms, as if each was trying to protect themselves. "What the hell, Hermione?"

Hermione fidgeted, her eyes flicking between his and the floor. "I had to get away for a few days." She hesitated, but then continued. "Oliver broke up with me."

George's worried anger immediately turned off as sympathy rose up in him. He might be in love with her and be glad she was not dating someone else now, but it didn't make the breakup any less painful, and he knew that. "Oh, I'm so sorry, 'Mione."

"Actually," replied Hermione with a small, sad smile, her arms still around her like a shield and a blanket all at the same time, "it was the most beautiful and loving breakup I'd ever experienced."

George had no idea how to process this bit of information. He was thoroughly confused by that so he decided to bypass it to what he deemed the more important information. "So you were with him?" he said, his words trailing off at the end.

"No," she said quietly. "I spent some time with my family. I needed to get away from everything, everyone. I had to figure things out."

George felt a glimmer of hope faintly stirring in his chest. "Like what?"

Hermione smiled slightly. "Like you."

"I thought you had me all figured out," he said with a smile.

"I thought I did too." Hermione smiled and rubbed her face with her hand, finally resting her cheek in her cupped hand as she looked at him in exasperation. "George Weasley, you are infuriating."

George blinked. This is not what he had been hoping for. She was smiling though, one of her now-trademark smiles that he got at least once a day from her, that smile that said _Honestly, what am I going to do with you? You are absolutely ridiculous._

"You are infuriating, and you can't control your mood swings, especially your anger, and I'm always fixing your broken knuckles from you punching walls like a caveman, and you tried to throw my cat across a room, and you made the first couple months living here an absolute hell, and you tried to kill my ex-boyfriend, and you scared away Rockwell for me, and you took me in against your will when I got kicked out of my flat, and you're an absolute child half of the time, and you can't cook to save your life, and you seem to be unable to wear trousers and a shirt at the same time when you're inside the flat, and I couldn't stand you and somehow you've become one of my closest friends, even though I want to throttle you half the time regardless, and…and I…"

She faltered, the constant stream of words suddenly cut off as her mouth moved uselessly, unable to get her the words she needed to say. He looked at her expression, torn between distress and a reluctant smile, her brow furrowed and her arms wrapped around her like a straight jacket, and he smiled as realization hit him.

"I know," he said quietly. "I know. Me too."

Her bright smile was all the confirmation he needed. He stepped forward, closing the gap between them. He cupped her face gently in his hands and their eyes met for a moment before he ducked his head to kiss her softly on the lips. Hermione wrapped her arms around him and went up onto her toes as she kissed back. After a few moments, they both smiled into the kiss, effectively breaking it.

"You too?" George asked quietly, trying to hide his lingering nervousness.

Hermione smiled at him, luminous against the dim backdrop of the flat. "Me too."

 

 

**EPILOGUE**

_Clink clink clink clink clink!_

Mrs. Weasley tapped her wand against the table, the crystalline sound reverberating in the air and catching everyone's attention. She cleared her throat and smiled at the group.

"Thank you all for coming today. We are so thankful you are here to celebrate the engagement of George and Hermione. We have all been waiting for this day for quite a long time. I know I have." A murmur of laughter rippled through the crowd. "I also want to thank my almost-daughter-in-law Hermione for letting me throw this party, as she was originally resistant about having an engagement party at all." Mrs. Weasley gave a teasing wink to Hermione, who was standing a few paces away. Hermione flushed red, playing with a loose curl in a way that clearly showed that she wished her hair was down so she could hide behind it. "So I hope everyone enjoys themselves. To George and Hermione!" Mrs. Weasley raised her glass and everyone else followed suit, chiming _To George and Hermione!_

George laughed as Hermione's blush started spreading down her neck. Everyone had now broken off into groups, but Mrs. Weasley had demanded they stay together for at least half the party so people would be able to congratulate them. George wrapped an arm around Hermione's waist and leaned forward to whisper into her ear.

"It's not so bad, now is it? Now that the embarrassing bit is over, we can just have fun. And if you're truly uncomfortable, just get sloshed." Hermione shot him a thoroughly disapproving look and he laughed. "Oh stop it – it's all our friends here. You know Mum has been waiting on tenterhooks for this. I thought she was going to have a litter of kittens when we finally told her the news."

"I know, I know. Plus, she just loved organizing these things. I just-, it's a lot of people just for an engagement," murmured Hermione.

"Ah well, that's Mum's style. Ah, look lively – another greeter."

A family walked up to where they were standing, the man's face blocked by a baby's body as he was readjusted in his father's arms. They finally reached the couple, who beamed.

"Oliver!" Hermione cried happily. "I'm so glad you came!" She moved forward and gave him a hug around the baby, who was babbling and gurgling happily. "And Freya!" Hermione's attention moved to a curvy, shorter woman with wavy, jet black hair, tons of freckles, and an infectious smile.

"Hermione!" Freya cried happily, hugging the bride-to-be tightly. "Crivvens, I'm so glad to see you two finally getting married."

"Yeah, it's taken you lot long enough," Oliver teased.

"You're not the first to tell us that," replied George with a laugh as Oliver passed off the baby to Hermione, whose voice immediately went up an octave as she said, "Hello, Hamish. How's my favorite little Scot?

"I think it's fair game," said Oliver with a grin. "In the time it took for you two to finally get engaged, most everyone else got engaged, married, and started families. Just look at your sister."

George waved a hand as if to brush away this comment. "Oh come off it. She's got Teddy and she adopted Sirius before she even had James. That's not a fair comparison."

They all laughed. Hermione started to bounce lightly, eliciting a delighted squeal from baby Hamish, who had his father's dark eyes and his mother's dark hair even at nine months old. George watched Hermione, her entire being lit up and her eyes never straying as she played with the baby.

"You know, Hermione, you're awfully good at this," said Freya with a wicked grin. "Have you thought about kids for you two yet?"

Hermione froze and looked over. Her nervous expression melted away as she saw Freya's teasing smile. The Woods' laughed.

"Don't scare her off, Freya," said George. "It took me five years for her to finally say yes. I can't have her spooking and running off before I can drag her down the aisle." George laughed and dodged a swat from his fiancée.

"Oh shut it," laughed Hermione.

"It definitely took you long enough," said Oliver, taking his son back from Hermione.

"Well," said George, "we had to make sure she wasn't just in it for my dashing good looks and roguish charm."

"Yeah, it certainly wasn't that, I can assure you," replied Hermione dryly.

"You little–"

Hermione laughed as George grabbed from around the waist, pretending to manhandle her.

"We're so happy for you two," said Oliver with a grin. "We wanted to give you our best before we leave. We have to bring Hamish to Freya's parents before we head off to my game in Switzerland."

"Oh, well best of luck!" said Hermione, giving the couple big hugs.

While Hermione and Freya were busy talking, Oliver leaned in to George and spoke quietly. "Well done, mate."

George grinned. "You as well. Man, I can't wait for that," he said as he looked over at Hermione putting a big kiss on Hamish's chubby cheek.

"Trust me, mate," said Oliver, looking over at the two women hugging and talking, "it's all worth the wait."

At that moment, Hermione glanced over at George and flashed him a bright smile and a wink.

Oliver was right. It had all been worth the wait.

 

_FIN._

**Author's Note:**

> Not Rowling.


End file.
